NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY'S MAGAZINE OF COLLEGIATE LIFE
^eaJu/u^^ JAZZ IN CHICAGO • WCTU • IN THE SWIM
BENEATH THE FROTH • FM • DOLPHIN SHOW
FEBRUARY 1947 numbers
t/ian any other cigarette
Doiliiis loo smoke for pleasure.
And when three iiulepeiulenl
researcli organizations asked
113,597 doctors— What cigarette
do yon smoke. Doctor? — //le
brand named most uitx Camel!
ts party tune again
/\na on I like the look or a jrcaL svvirling skirt— Inc partv night
splendor ol hrillianl ss\'aths or imcxpeclea eolor comoinea. Sophistication
CLim laiiae worked up in lightheai'ted raille.
Left: Black mid Aqua. Homy Btigf anil Cliar/n use. W/ii/i 'iiiil Royal. 55.00
Right: Blue and Atuerican Beauty, Chartreuse and Poudir Blue, Ashes of Roses and Aqua,
White aud .-inieriean Beauty, Wliite and Royal. 35.00
hvenins Shop * lourtli floe
Photo by I'aul Mallor
'' S Vjrlll jrUTl . . . Chatting at Scott, Martha Ashby, Kappa, and Peggy Donnely, DG, choose two casual outfits
from Bramson's college shop.
Peggy wears a suit of beige flannel — her Norfolk jacket and slim fly-front skirt are perfect for spring. A gay silk scarf adds
color. Suit, kelly, beige, cocoa — S35.
Martha selects a short boxy jacket Peter Pan collar, and a straight matching black skirt. Under the jacket a Peggy Parker
favorite — a white sweater with vivid stripes of red, yellow and black. Jacket $22.95; skirt (Black only) $10.95; Sweater
^^ p A i?/c
^^ BEACH •
1730 ORRINGTON AVE.
NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY'S MAGAZINE OF COLLEGIATE LIFE
GEORGE GRUENWALD, Editor JANET CHRISTIE, Business Mgr.
NO ONE WE KNOW CHARLES CREENBLATT 8
LIFE'S NOT THE MOVIES ROC MORAN 14
EDDIE AND THE MERMAID TOD EVANS 27
COD AND THE CELLAR ROBERT JACODA 36
MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS HARRIETTE RHAWN 37
JAZZ IN CHICAGO BILL BENNETT 10
LEGALIZE THEIR NAMES MILTON SCHWARTZ 12
FM AT NORTHWESTERN GEORGE GRUENWALD 16
A-B-S-T-l-N-E-N-C-E E. M^ STEINDLER 25
IN THE SWIM BILL KREUTZ 26
NU'S STATIC-FREE VOICE FISHMAN & BLAHA 17
HOWDY PAHDNER PAUL MALLORY 18
OF ALL PLACES 20
BENEATH THE FROTH PAUL MALLORY 22
BIRD'S EYE VIEW HURSHUL GOLDBURG 15
TALE FEATHERS 28
PARROT STAND THE EDITOR 40
EDITORIAL STAFF: RUTH KRAUSE, Issue Editor. HURSHUL COLDBURC, Features.
FRANK SAYLES, Layout. RICHARD SIEBERT, Art. PAUL MALLORY, Photography. TOD
EVANS & LOUIS KENNEDY. Fiction & Poetry. |AC CREMIN, BOB EDWARDS, )OAN
FORSYTHE, BILL KREUTZ, MILTON SCHWARTZ, Assistant Editors. CHARLES CREEN-
BLATT, E. M. STEINDLER, ROBERT |ACODA, BILL BENNETT, ROC MORAN, REVA
FISHMAN, TOM BLAHA, BETTY HANNEMAN, CLENN CHURCH, CAROL WACNER,
WALLY SUNDHOLM, ART SALANDER, LUCY FUNDERBURK, CAROL LONCNECKER,
PHYLLIS BERCQUIST, ANN BACON, MARTHA FULTON, LOIS )ONES, BARBARA
CASSER, MARLOE POLSON, H. CORDON LEWIS, BERT E. SOMMERS, TERRY SACKS,
TOM SMITH, BILL CUMMINC, HARRIETTE RHAWN, TED FREDSTROM.
1^ URNING MOMENTARILY frOnl the
arty to the practical, we tip our hats
this month to Janet Christie and Joyce
Ronningen, from left to right, business
manager and advertising manager of
this slick, One a Norska, the other a
Svenska flicka, the small and large
blonds are paragons of the successful
coed leading the rich full life in our
brave new world.
Little (5' 21/2"), feather-cut Janet is
a smiling, good-natured thing who feels
strongly on no subject. Alarmingly
normal, she appears to do and like
almost everything within decent limits.
A senior, majoring in phys ed, her one
obsession is that people should be
healthier. Who's going to argue with
that? Some of the honors piled up
around our easy-going miss are Mortar
Board, Shi-Ai, SGB and WSGA mem-
berships and, naturally enough, she's a
Greek, Chi O. Happy Janet wants to
teach in a college and then get married.
But of course.
Joyce Ronningen (Speech '48) is an
AOPi from WCTUTown who wants to
be a big exec in selling some day. Half
Swedish, half Norwegian, she's overtly
as cold emotionally as the bleak fjord
land. Possibly the most non-committal
person around, she admits to such
harmless activities as membership in
the Junior Council and Shi-Ai. Joyce,
an imposing structure (5' 7"), has only
vague likes and dislikes and wouldn't
think of taking them out of hiding in
front of all you people. She did confess
to being sensitive. It's a charming part
of her, but she's bothered by it and
w^ould like to see a psycho-analyst.
They're fashionable now.
COVER: St. Valentine's Day always makes
us feel like going out for a good stiff drink
of cyanide: but we don't, we don't ... we
get sentimental like everyone else and run
pictures like this month's excellent cover
shot by Photographer Carlyle I Pinky I Free-
born. Pinky, accompanied by side-kick Paul
Mallory, took our dust-wrapper feature while
hanging out of a sorority house bedroom.
PURPLE PARROT, published during the months of October, December, February, March, April, May by the Student Publishing Company Inc Scott
Hall, Northwestern University, Evanston, Illinois. Subscriptions: $1.25 per year. VOL. XXVi, No. 3, February, 1947. Application for ent'ry as 'matter
of the second class, pending at postoffice at Evanston, Illinois. The entire content of the PURPLE PARROT, text and illustrations are protected by copv-
BUSINESS STAFF: )0Y WALL, TRUDIE FLANICAN, Assistant Managers. JOYCE RON-
NINGEN, Advertising. JEANNE TIDMARSH, NIKKI WOODS, Promotion, PAT LOUIS,
Fashions. MARIE HULLCRANZ, Circulation. JEANNE RONNINCAN, Layout. JOYCE
CLOHESEY, LEE MASHBURN, Assistant Layout Managers. JEAN COPELAND, JANE
GREGORY, JOANNE GREGORY, LOUISE FEIGEL, ANN STARK, LYN THOMAS. VAL
REISING, BILL BLACKLEY, JANICE KAPLAN, FRED GORDON.
Relaxing in the distinctive atmosphere of the
Camellia House, Muff Stewart, DC, and Jim
Kroeger, Delt, watch inimitable Mike Evanoff, the
mad Russian, enjoying his work. Listening to
Robert McCrew's orchestra climaxes a perfect evening
for Zee Herman, Kappa, and Jim Vynaiek, Delt.
Make yours a wonderful evening, too, at the
Camellia House where there's no minimum, no
^' f" # u
in the Drake Hotel
THE TOP . . .
as well as
Patricia Stevens . , .
HOLLYWOOD • SAN FRANCISCO • NEW YORK • MILWAUKEE
INDIANAPOLIS • KANSAS CITY ♦ DETROIT
30 W. Washington
Photo hy Twl l-'ii-(Utniin
Enjoying an evening at the Silhouette are Jack Stolle,
Alpha Delt: Joan Crissey, Alpha Chi; Joyce Clohesey,
AOPi; and John Wold, Alpha Delt.
It's the Silhouette ..."
• For dancing to delightful music
For continuous entertainment
Fur atmosphere that's different
For Jam Sessions
From 4 PM to
9 PM Sundays
1555 W. Howard
BOTTLED UNDER AUTHORITY OF THE COCA-COLA COMPANY BY
COCA-COLA BOTTLING CO. OF CHICAGO, INC.
by A R i A N E
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"Ifs Smart to Wear
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This dainty spray 'OJ orchids outlines
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For the Most Unusual in
Corsages and Floral
Smooth records, a wonderful
record changer and you're all set
for sn evening of fun.
Jeanne Nadherny, Alpha Cam
and Chuck Krippes, DU seem to
be quite engrossed in Vaughn
Monroe's latest album.
617 Davis Uni 9400
'the best in music"
Radios Sheet Music
Photo by Paul Mallors
START THE EVENING RIGHT.
Whether you want wonderful music, wine, or just a plain ordinary Cood Time . . . come on out
Left to right are Don Hunter, Beta, Janet Christie, Chi 0, Walt Kemp, Beta, and Lonny Hill, Chi 0.
Oasis Little Club
...4400 Simpson... Skokie J65S
No One We Know
Irs. Wilsome always stopped
clearing the breakfast dishes the mo-
ment the morning paper arrived. Each
morning, the thud of the folded South-
ville Sun against the front step was Mrs.
Wilsome's cue for pulling out the elec-
tric toaster cord and running to the
door. Unfolding the tightly rolled pa-
per, Mrs. Wilsome glanced at the head-
lines. If something interested her, she
would read it aloud to her husband. In
either case, her husband would always
smile wanly and feign concern.
This morning the Southville Sun did
not interest Mrs. Wilsome so she read
aloud, prefacing each story with a com-
mand for attention.
"George, listen to this. The Society
for the Advancement of Commerce will
hold its annual meeting today in the
Knotty Pine room of the Hotel Webster.
This first meeting since the end of hos-
tilities in the Pacific will be devoted to
the election of officers. Officers for the
past year have been . . ."
Mrs. Wilsome had a definite aversion
to reading lists of names from the pa-
per. It was a degree of familiarity with
the community which she did not per-
mit herself — or her husband. If she
came to a list of names in her course of
reading, she stopped abruptly and be-
gan a new story.
This always amused her husband who
asked half in interest, half in mockery.
"Anyone we know?"
"No, no one we know," Mrs. Wilsome
answered abstractedly. "George, listen
to this. James T. Beck, author of the
best seller 'Brood of Folly,' will arrive
in Southville from Westshire, today, to
deliver a lecture on the influence of
John Milton on modern writers, at the
Community House, tonight. A round
table discussion will follow. Participants
will be . . ."
"Anyone we know?" asked her hus-
"No. no one we know," Mrs. Wilsome
answered abstractedly. "George, listen
Her husband never could tell if his
wife were interested in the paper until
she reached the third story. If she were
interested, she would skip from story
to story as if she were reading con-
tinued installments of an absorbing
love story. If she were not interested,
she would frown at the breakfast dishes
and try to read them away. This morn-
ing, she frowned at the seeds in the
bottom of her orange juice glass and
resumed her reading.
"Miss Jacqueline Peabody, daughter
of Mr. and Mrs. J. Huntley Peabody
of Westshire, Connecticut, will be intro-
duced by her sister, at a ball in her
honors tonight, at the South View
Country Club. Those attending are . . ."
"Anyone we know?" asked her hus-
"No, no one we know," Mrs. Wilsome
Mrs. Wilsome read two more stories
which didn't interest her and then
began to fold the paper.
"Is that all the news for today?" her
husband asked, as he raised his hand
to his mouth just in time to catch the
end of last night's yawn.
Mrs. Wilsome unfolded the paper.
"It's nothing, really," she said. "Just
a little accident."
She frowned once more, this time at
the crusts of toast her husband had left.
"Three people were killed and ten
others injured when a Trans-city Bus
overturned late last night ten miles
from the city. A defective tire was
blamed, according to a Coveral Insur-
ance Company representative. Those
killed in the crash were . . ."
James T. Beck, author of "Brood of
Folly" and champion of the Miltonic
influence of modern American litera-
ture, bought a round-trip bus ticket
for Southville. As he boarded the bus,
he noticed rather undramatically that
no one was reading "Brood of Folly."
No one was carrying "Brood of Folly''
under his arm, no one had a package
that looked like it might contain a gift-
wrapped copy of "Brood of Folly."
Dismissing this with visions of post-
humous fame. Mr. Beck began reading
a rather thought-worn edition of Mil-
ton's "Lycidas." In this poem, which
he considered the greatest in the Eng-
lish language, Mr. Beck saw mirrored
his own future.
As the bus moved toward Southville.
Mr. Beck amused himself by drawing
not too obvious parallels between the
creator of "Paradise Lost" and the me-
chanic of "Brood of Folly." The only
real relationship between Milton and
Beck was that Beck had chosen a
phi-ase from Milton's "II Penseroso," as
the title for his book.
Milton had not started on his best
work until he was fifty years old. Mr.
Beck was thirty-three, but he did not
intend to write another book until he
was fifty. Milton wrote the two works
of Paradise while completely blind. Mr.
Beck was decidedly nearsighted and
might well be blind by the time he was
forty-four. Milton had had three wives,
the last of whom had survived him by
fifty years. Mr. Beck, at the age of
thirty-thi'ee, was unmarried, but his
publisher had a daughter, who was in
ill health, and who might marry him.
That would be a good start. Milton
was afraid that "the blind fury with
the abhorred shears" might slit his
thin-spun life before the berries, which
he plucked in "Lycidas," had time to
ripen. Mr. Beck was afraid of death,
Yes, the parallels between the two
authors' lives were certainly startling,
thought Mr. Beck.
Mr. Beck, in situations concerning
Mr. Beck, was completely congenial. It
wasn't long before this congeniality was
thrust upon his neighbor, who had
made the mistake of glancing at the
worn copy of "Samson Agonistes" in
the author's hand.
"It certainly is unusual to find a per-
son interested in John Milton," Mr.
Beck observed. "Perhaps you have read
James T. Beck's 'The Brood of Folly'?"
he added hurriedly.
His neighbor, caught, pretended to be
looking at the aspirin ads directly above
him. James T. Beck, completely unin-
terested in aspirin ads, launched a dra-
matic monologue designed to inspire.
His neighbor yawned.
The subject of the monologue was
"The Blind Poet, John Milton and His
Effect on James T. Beck." The not too
obvious parallels, with which Mr. Beck
had amused himself silently, had found
Illustrated by Art Sallander
His neighbor was not amused.
John Milton had retired to Horton
to become the most learned man in
England. James T. Beck, while ad-
mittedly not the most learned man in
America, had made an intensive study
of the cosmos and its relation to litera-
ture. Milton spent so much time study-
ing that he had little time to devote
to his family. Mr. Beck hadn't written
a letter home in two and one-half years.
His neighbor yawned.
James T. Beck, author of "Brood of
Folly," recalled that Milton's work was
"simple, sensuous, and passionate." He
was trying to reconcile this with his
work, which was cryptic, sterile, and
impotent," when the bus tire exploded.
As the bus overturned over on the
embankment, Mr. Beck recalled the
most vivid parallel between John Mil-
ton and James T. Beck.
James T. Beck was afraid of death.
4v -K- *
Miss Jacqueline Peabody, ample in
body and pinched in mind, bought a
round-trip bus ticket for Southville.
The family chauffeur had eloped with
the family cook in the family car. For-
tunately, both the Westshire and South-
ville newspapers announcing Miss Pea-
body's debut had overlooked the ac-
companying scandal. The excitement
of "coming out" had been dulled slight-
ly by the commonness of the bus ride.
Miss Peabody found a seat in the
back of the bus. On the seat beside
her, she placed the two books which
she had brought along to read, in case
there was nothing else to do. In several
hours. Miss Peabody would arrive in
Southville. In several more hours, she
.by Charles Greetiblatt
would be di'essed formally for her
Miss Jacqueline Peabody, schooled
meticulously in the social graces, was
eighteen. Those eighteen years had
been filled with flattery, which always
included a subtle testing of her father's
purse strings. Apparently the purse
strings had not proved sufficiently flex-
ible, for Miss Peabody remained unat-
tached at eighteen. The debut, she felt
confident, would take care of that.
As she inspected her left hand, she
gazed longingly at the barren spot on
her fourth finger. Her mind filled the
barrenness, and she forgot the inspec-
Miss Peabody smiled graciously at
the popping flash bulbs. 'When she
looked at the polished ballroom floor,
she saw her smiling face peering out
from behind the folds of silk. When she
looked into her goblet of champagne,
she saw her smiling face bubbling up
at her. When she danced, she saw her-
self in the smiling faces of those who
watched her. When she coyly extended
her left hand, the whole stag line
reached for it in unison. They all
reached into their pockets together,
withdrawing jewelled boxes. Will you
wear my ring? they all seemed to say.
Miss Peabody smiled graciously. As
she looked at the series of rings on her
fourth finger, they seemed to disappear
one by one. The faces were no longer
smiling. The flash bulbs no longer
Miss Peabody was back in the bus,
inspecting her left hand. The left thumb
was perfect. The forefinger and the
middle finger were as they should be.
[Continued on page 10)
P a s: e 9
The cuticle of the fourth finger was
pushed back carefully, exposing a per-
fectly rounded half-moon. The arch
was not quite symmetrical. There was
something crooked about the nail of
the fourth finger. Her left hand was not
ready for the debut.
She was looking in her purse for an
emery board to file that imperfect nail
when the bus tire exploded. As the
bus turned over on the embankment,
she looked once again at her crooked
Her purse was nowhere to be found.
William Casey bought a one-way bus
ticket for Southville. William Casey
rarely bought bus tickets. In fact, he
rarely bought anything. He was a fail-
ure, if success is measured by money
in the pocket or a well-filled stomach.
William Casey had neither.
He had no hopes for the future, no
regrets of the past. He lived in the
living present. If he thought at all, he
did not recognize it as thought. Life
was merely a series of sensations to
him. A bus ride to Southville was just
another sensation to William Casey. He
had no reason for going to Southville;
he had no reason for leaving Westshire.
He was just going. He might come
back, and then again, he might not.
Those who insist in moralizing about
William Casey would call him a failure.
Those who must glamourize destitution
would tearfully call him the forgotten
man. Those who consider the economic
consequence would categorize him as a
burden upon society. William Casey
was not a failure. A man who has never
thought, cannot suddenly think himself
a failure. William Casey was not a for-
gotten man. He had a name. He was
not a burden upon society. If he did
not eat, he di'ew his own belt tighter-.
William Casey followed the bus with
his eyes. If the bus rolled past fields
of grain, he saw fields of grain. If it
passed a river, he saw a river. If the
bus stopped at a railway crossing, he
stopped with it. There wasn't a thing
that the bus did that William Casey
did not do.
William Casey saw only what there
was to see. There were no hidden
meanings for him. If someone looked
scornfully at him, he saw someone
looking scornful. He wouldn't bother
to see if his tie were awry or if there
were lint on his coat. If someone smiled
at him, he saw someone smiling. He
felt neither compassion nor sympathy.
(ContimLed on page 30)
HICAGO HAS FOR A LONG TIME NEEDED
a jazz promoter combining sound in-
telligence and a realistic approach to
the cultural enigma called jazz. And
fortunately for Chicago, the man who
by all odds can be declared one of the
most capable has been around the city
for a number of years. Quietly, by
comparison, he's been developing a
superb aesthetic feeling for the coun-
try's most important musical contribu-
tion to mankind, providing, at the same
time, an objective appraisal of it for
Paul Eduard Miller — author, essayist,
producer, and critic of the fine arts — is
the cool spring morning to the precari-
ous existence that American jazz music
leads. His prolific activities that center
in the Chicago area are designed to
bring order out of chaos. In a compact
north side studio apartment near Lin-
coln Park, the youngish bachelor has
since 1935 written a half million words
on hot music. His essays, ranging in
I publication fields from trade journals
through Esquire magazine, plus five
I books on the subject, have achieved
for him an enviable international fol-
lowing that few critics obtain. In fact,
a half dozen Chicago acquaintances
have such thorough-going confidence
in Miller's critical opinions that they're
building hot record collections based
solely on the man's discriminate selec-
Miller, however, is not the brand of
dogmatic jazz connoisseur- that is popu-
larly known to expound "schools" of
the culture. Miller's entire cultivation
of a fine art barely twenty-five years
old and accumulation of material per-
taining to it has been concentrated
along historical as well as aesthetic
lines. While the Beards may be among
the American political history special-
ists, Paul Eduard Miller exemplifies
top talent in American jazz study.
Although his daily toil is concerned
primarily with revision of his "Year-
book of Jazz," Miller's eventual goal
is the development of high quality
music locally, which, according to Mil-
ler, is a difficult accomphshment. Con-
vinced as he is that the process is a
long, thorny one. Miller is making a
significant attempt to build an audience
of older people — with the consequential
elimination of bobby-soxers — through a
series of small Kimball showcasings.
When and if this more mature group
gives him a vote of confidence by fiUing
the hall, he will have partially suc-
ceeded; and the support will serve as
a basis for larger concerts. His early
December musicale at Kimball, which
featured Sidney Bechet and Mezz Mezz-
row of hot music's Golden Era. was in
part designed as a further test of public
support here. Meantime, his plans for
the next few months include further
presentations at prices sufficient only
to cover expenses. The big Miller-
sponsored "Operations Jazz" concert
last fall at the loop Opera House was,
from the gate-receipts standpoint, only
a mild triumph, with financial backing
coming from the Green Recording
company. Indications are that he'll not
attempt another of that magnitude for
However pretentious the numerous
hot music concerts that have greeted
Chicagoans recently may seem, the sud-
den influx actually is proving a liability
to the local cause. Miller believes.
"With so many in one season, you
can't know precisely which ones are
best," he says. "Your newspaper critics
don't know jazz — I hope they don't
profess to — and the reviews are bad.
This results in a public not intelligently
informed in what concerts rate atten-
tion — they get a distorted view of jazz.
People say 'nuts' and won't support it.
"But this isn't to deny the efforts of
Down Beat magazine and Will David-
son, the Tribune's music critic. Both
have been very good to me and very
good for jazz."
An additional skirmish in the Miller
battle to protect hot music prestige is
with organizations like the Hot Club
of Chicago. His own concert plans are
a rigorous reversal of usual hot club
Prime promoter of music of the gutbucket school in
Chicago is Paul Eduard Miller, of refined tastes and
dogmatic opinions. "Down Beat" staff writer Bill Bennett
writes of Miller's struggles.
session characteristics: a subsidized
night club atmosphere, with kids and
low prices. "Bad for publicity" is the
way he ternis them.
Jazz in Chicago is essentially non-
existant. That much Miller is reason-
ably sure of. and he's certain that the
local public doesn't know the ability of
the accepted "greats" in the field.
"There have rarely been true jazzmen
in Chicago for any length of time dur-
ing the last several years," he says.
"Just for example, Sidney Bechet was
making his Chicago debut at Operations
Jazz. It was tantamount to his first
public appearance here in twenty
Dizzy Gillespie, the be-bob exponent
who also graced the Opera House, has
seldom appeared here at spots accessible
to the layman. Along with Bechet and
Bene Cedric, Gillespie flew from New
York for the affair as a personal favor
to Miller. Any of the other methods
generally used in obtaining good artists
probably would have resulted in failure.
Miller has few tenacious doctrines,
but he believes that the public is buy-
ing sweet, commercial music because it
doesn't have convenient access to the
"good." In addition, he maintains that
JAZZ GREATS, from left. Lou-
is Armstrong, trumpet; Roy
Eldridge, trumpet; Coleman
Hawkins, tenor sax, and uni-
dentified clarinetist, snapped
at recent Chicago jam session.
jazz, as in all the arts, holds only a
superficial interest for people.
"The classics have prestige value.
Jazz hasn't, so far. But nobody is horn
with musical appreciation — you have to
acquire a taste for jazz just as in any
art. The process requires mental and
emotional efl'ort and a kind of social
environment conducive to listening. To
come to full maturity necessitates many,
many years of critical listening and
Another problem, according to Miller,
is this business of deciding what isn't.
"People just say it's a matter of opinion.
That's perfectly true, but it's only half
the story. Equally true is the fact that
there are aesthetic standards agreed
upon in the critical writing of all times
which are foundations on which a good
present-day critic can build his credo.
These standards are not one man's
opinion, but a series of competent men's
opinions — opinions of generation after
generation of people who have studied
and labored over music. In the manner
of cultural things, such permanent
qualities consequently have been estab-
lished over hundreds of years."
As far as Miller is concerned, a cri-
tic's opinion is his own, plus these
permanent criteria. He suggests: read
the critic you agree with. And he adds:
as your tastes change, you will change
More and more unanimous opinion
he finds, is cropping up with regard to
records, artists, and hot music in gen-
eral. "Personally, I think Becht is one
of the great instrumentalists in jazz.
The same goes for Hackett, Armstrong,
and Berigan." But many a currently
popular jazz stylist — the King Cole trio
for instance — he believes will eventu-
ally drop from the list. Carrying the
illustration further. King Cole is not
an ultimate to Miller. "Consider the
real test of a jazz record. Will you
still think it great five, ten, or more
years from now? Will your serious
fellow students think so too? That's
the sound test."
Strangely enough. Miller's initial
contacts with hot music didn't come
when he was a musician. During early
childhood in Wisconsin he displayed no
special fondness for learning any in-
strument. Not until he moved to Chi-
cago in 1925 did he become interested
in music. Those were the days when
jazz was young, obscure, and hadn't
impressed polite circles to any extent.
Miller roamed the South Side where
lusty jazz was anc^hored, and after
months of exploration and hours of
listening, he derived a predilection for
hot music uncustomary to the times.
(Continued on page 31)
Northwestern's publicity is slanted with an eye towards the checkbook
Cheese-cake doesn't promote endowments.
FEW DAYS AGO I WAS Walking up
Sheridan road, returning from a PAR-
ROT assignment, when I ran into a
philosophy major friend of mine. I'd
rather not have seen him at the time,
for I had the unclean, nervous feeling
of an apostate and the sight of my
critical friend brought forth a surge
of guilt. I forthright started an apology
which I feel must be made to many
students at Northwestern. Having been
sent into the lions' den of university
administrative officers in charge of
money raising, public relations and
publicity, I not only came out alive,
I'm a big buddy of the lions. Every-
thing looked surprisingly clean to me,
so I have to write it that way. Too bad
I couldn't be a crusader!
You remember the nasty business last
spring when the university made a bid
for financial contributions from stu-
dents to build a bigger and better
Northwestern. Some people got pretty
acrimonious when the head of the
school's Public Relations Office, Thomas
A. Gonser, got his name in a Daily
banner as he protested, "N. U. NOT
RICH," explaining that showed possi-
bilities of being the neatest trick of the
week. Students became enraged, then
sarcastic, then forgot about it. I had
more important things to think about,
too, until I came face to face with the
formidable Mr. Gonser and started find-
ing things out.
The recently retired head of the
Public Relations Office is amply built,
has a self-assured smile, and slightly
thinning silver hair. He seems pros-
perous in his fine-fitting suits, his neat
foulard ties. He's a nice guy, and is
awfully sorry if students don't under-
stand him and what he's doing. But,
he shrugs, he owes no one an apology.
I'm sorry I can't play the role of Lee
Tracy and dig up some dirt — let's see
Q.: What is the primary function of
the Public Relations Office?
Q.: Why raise funds? Who gets the
money? (I thought I had him
A.: Your tuition pays for less than half
of your education at Northwestern.
The university gets no direct money
grants from the state. So we must
depend upon gifts for much of our
income. Donations can either be
directly spent on running the school
— faculty salaries, putting up new
buildings, buying new equipment,
cutting the grass, etc. — or can be
invested, with the income from
such investments being spent on
Q.: What's the financial set-up of the
A.: It's a corporation with no stock
Q.: How's that again? But if there's
we just let them know we are
around and what we're doing.
Q.: Just what are you trying to do?
A.: We are trying to make Northwest-
ern the finest university possible.
To accomplish this, we have faculty
members speak to alumni groups,
we show prospective donors around
campus, and we do all sorts of
things to let the general public
know what we want and why.
This dialogue may give you a general
idea of what goes on "behind the
any profit, who get's it? (That's
pointed enough, eh?)
A.: That's what I'd like to know. All
income goes to the University itself,
thus indirectly to you students. (At
this point some enigmatic financial
statistics were introduced. A feel-
ing of guilt for having ignored
commerce school these many years
rushed into my mind and out
Q.: Well, what does it all mean? Tell
A.: You can see where the money goes.
Where's this slush fund you're
Q.: I guess it looks all right. (I was
beginning to weaken at this point.)
You spend so much, you invest so
much. It seems to balance.
A.: Of course it balances. We've got
nothing to hide. My office contacts
alumni and others by means of
letters, the Alumni News, and Uni-
versity sponsored dinnei-s in solicit-
ing donations for scholarships, new
buildings, and the like. Sometimes
it's a direct appeal, at other times
By Milton Schwartz
scenes." Mr. Gonser first became asso-
ciated with Northwestern in 1922 as an
assistant to the president. Gifts to the
University have jumped from S5.000.000.
when he began his fund-raising, to
today's whopping $85,000,000.
Apparently that's a major league
average in the fund-raising game, for
Mr. Gonser has been called in to help
Beloit, N. Y. U.. Notre Dame and West-
ern Reserve, among other schools. He
had an "I can hardly wait"' gleam in
his eyes as he showed me yards of
blue prints of planned buildings and
improvements awaiting necessary dona-
tions to blossom forth into reality.
I suppose that everyone expects some
peculiarity in such an alarmingly nor-
mal, successful man, so I will mention
that Mr. Gonser holds his cork-tipped
cigaret between his teeth as he smokes.
It's not easy: I tried it.
Mr. Gonser took away my trump
cards when he brought up a few em-
barrassing questions that people keep
As for discrimination against mem-
bers of minority groups, something
PI RP LF. P i R ROT
vague was said about a cross-section
of society that the University tries to
maintain in its student body. "There's
discrimination, yes, but it's discrim-
innation without mahcious motive. We
try to get only those people who can
fit into our environment comfortably.
Thus we might keep out poor students
who couldn't afford going to school in
Evanston, not because we don't like
other people, but for the good of every-
one involved. We would like to solve
these problems but we can't."
Second in command of the Public
Relations Office is Mr. Edward Strom-
berg, who is primarily concerned with
"Basically, we are here for education
and research. These are the things we
are most anxious to publicize. The
newspapers and magazines are always
after us for stories and pictures of
beauty queens, fashion shows, and the
like. We co-operate to a certain extent,
but we have, on occasions, refused to
let major national magazines run stories
of a frivolous nature when those maga-
zines have refused to do serious articles
You may have seen the recent spread
in Life of several of our proudest co-ed
beauties modeling the latest in campus
fashions with their faces to the lens.
Messrs. Stromberg, Paulison, and Gonser
publicity. He describes his work glow-
ingly as "use of the printed word to
serve the University." Leaning back in
his swivel-chair, placing his thumbs
comfortably in the arm-holes of his
vest, and looking out upon the peace
that is Orrington at 4 p.m., Mr. Strom-
berg spoke fondly of his job.
"Publicity for its own sake has no
intrinsic value. The University exists
for education, and our work is directed
to that end. We attempt to enhance
the prestige of Northwestern to attract
the best prospective students, interest
philanthropists in our work, and get
better people in our faculty."
A highly altruistic man, Mr. Strom-
berg looks upon his job as a mission
in life. In addition to publishing all
the school catalogues, announcements,
and fund-raising literature, Mr. Strom-
berg and his staff handle relations with
the press and are very active in work-
ing with prosoective donors. The prob-
lem in regard to getting Northwestern
into newspapers and magazines is one
of the keeping matters academic and
matters rah-rah in proper proportion.
their backs to Deering Library. North-
westei'n's name was not mentioned in
the story. Who was snubbing who?
Lectures by faculty men at high
schools, Kiwanis Clubs, and other sim-
ilar groups are sponsored by Mr.
Stromberg. We get an occasional plug
on the radio and in the movies through
the efforts of this office, which once
produced a 35 minute color film of its
own. This movie, shown to high school
and alumni groups, tells the story of
Northwestern from its beginning in
1851 until today. The film carefully
points out that the rich, full life in the
brave new world at Northwestern anx-
iously awaits the aid of friends.
We get space in the news columns
often when some prominent faculty
member comments on an important
national or world event. Getting into
the papers works two ways: either the
publicity office sends out releases or
the papers call for particular stories.
The papers might want to know what
we are doing, for example, about veter-
ans" housing. Mr. Stromberg arranges
for interviews with the proper parties,
facilitates the photographer's work, and
in general helps the newspaper man get
what he is after. This year our un-
usually good football team kept the
office rushing to keep up on educational
Mr. Stromberg is a tall, serious look-
ing man. His neatly-combed hair,
slightly gray at the temples, and his
rimless glasses complete a picture which
might inore aptly describe a church
warden than a hyper-active publicity
man. It was the midnight oil efforts
of Mr. Stromberg and his staff that got
Northwestern's prospects to Walter
Murphy's lawyers ahead of those from
other institutions, and started the nego-
tiations which culminated in the original
gift of $6,500,000, and the later one of
$23,000,000, for the Technological In-
A modest, retiring man in a modest,
cubby-hole office is Walter Paulison.
director of sports publicity for North-
western. Among Mr. Paulison's tasks
are turning out four news releases for
the journals each week during the foot-
ball season, publishing the football pro-
gram every fall, playing host to the
press at football games, working with
newsreel cameramen, and help WBKB
televise games at Dyche stadium, all of
which keeps Paulison and his staff (con-
sisting of one cute secretary) busy.
The press box at Dyche accommo-
dates two hundred newsmen. There
are eight radio booths at present and
four more are planned. Mr. Paulison
has no trouble getting stations to broad-
cast the games. Since there are only
eight booths and many more than eight
stations wanting to broadcast the games,
the trouble is discouraging some of the
radio people. That's why, according to
Paulison, a charge is made for the
privilege of carrying the gaines.
Balaban & Katz bestowed upon us
some kind of distinction when they
started televising our games over their
WBKB. making us the first school in
the middle west to bring the sights and
sounds of football into the home. To
date, the University hasn't lost any
studium customers as a result.
So the next time you pay to fill your
pen in the Reserve Room at Deering.
remember that the University matches
every penny you snend.
And that is a direct result of the
fund-raising and publicity efforts of the
Public Relations Office — our unappre-
FEBRUARY, 19 47
Life Shouldnt Be
More Like The Movies
1^ HE FULFILLMENT OF THAT age old
bromide. "Life should be more like the
movies,' was remotely possible a few
years ago. People actually did try to
pattern their lives after screen hap-
penings. Feasible horseoperas, obvious
murder mysteries and the perennial
family series didn't make the average
moviegoer any more normal, but at
least he didn't become a frustrated
neurotic as a result of his weekly at-
tendance. Lately, the movies are far
too psychological and complicated to
ever allow everyday life to catch up
with them. Once the movies were
attended as a source of entertainment.
It's difficult to explain today's tremen-
dous box-office attraction unless it's
due to the decline and fall of pinochle.
A simple comparison of the change in
cinema tactics in the last ten or fifteen
years points out the obvious.
The Western hero used to be a silent,
two-fisted hombre who shot straight,
rode hard and never kissed the shy,
demure heroine. The villain was a
stinker and looked like one. The plot
consisted merely of getting the mort-
gage on the old homestead paid off,
shooting the crooked banker and living
happily ever after. The only resem-
blance between ancient and modern
horseoperas is the unwritten law,
■"Western heroes never lose their hats."'
I have a close friend whose only
hobby is when attending the modern
Western with pencil and paper to
scratch down a mark for every shot
fired from the hero's six-gun without
By Rog Moran
reloading. I believe his record is
eighty-seven set by Smiley Burnette in
"The Crisco Kid's Revenge." Now, in
the average Western, the hero usually
turns out to be a radio crooner called
"Dakota Joe" Dalton who has never
been outside of Flushing. Long Island.
He takes his vacation out West so he
can find out all about horses, Injuns
and corral talk. He gets involved with
the heroine who turns out to be the
lady Faro-dealer at Sam's Round-Up
Inn and who doubles as a torch singer
on the side. Before the final curtain
drops, the hundred and thirty pound
hero singlehandedly beats be-Jesus out
of eleven of the rival gang and, note
this, never loses his Stetson. The plot
involves a gang of rustlers using auto-
gyros and bazookas, an international
black market ring, and a mysterious
deposit of radium under the out-house.
When the loose ends of the plot are
finally tied up, instead of strolling off
into the sunset the way horseoperas
used to end, the hero and heroine start
their own radio program which is a
huge success. The cinema classic ends
with the entire cast grouped together
singing "Hot Ralston Cain't Be Beat."
As for the modern mystery, it is defi-
nitely losing its pre-war popularity.
Once, the average business man didn't
mind too much being dragged out to a
Illustrated by Gleini Clmrcli
movie by the missus if he could nudge
her halfway through and say, "The
butler done it." He was invariably
right, and it inflated his ego. At pres-
ent, the plot opens with sLx or eight
bankers, doctors, lawyers and other
prominent people grouped about and
attempting to assist and straighten out
the hero. One of these who utters
seven more syllables during the picture
turns out to be the murderer. Lately
the trend has been toward a psycho-
neurotic returned G. I. hero. This brings
the story closer to home. I'm led to
believe. Instead of the cross-eyed but-
ler or the half-witted brother being the
murderer ^vith a natural motive, it's
usually the hero's best friend, uncle, or
at least, the trusted family doctor, and
the motive is international in scope.
Not only does this frustrate the tenth
row Sherlock, but it tends to make
him suspicious of his most unsuspicious
neighbors and business associates.
Of course, there is the other approach
to the murder mystery. In it. the hero
is a young, handsome "private eye" . . .
usually a returned G.I. which brings
the story closer to home, I'm led to
believe. He never smiles, knows all
the head-waiters in town, carries a few
thousand for spending money, and all
through the story beautiful young ladles
with very loose morals fall all over
themselves trying to get pretty -boy to
help them. He always accepts but never
knows just what to do. The only per-
son more in the dark than the audience
(Continued on page 33)
PI RPLE PARROT
BIRD'S Eye View
E HAVE TO ADMIT IT: We Were
almost crying in our beer about our
poor brethren working so hard to put
out a daily paper four times a week.
From the looks of things, they were
being sandbagged and walked on so
much that their faces, lined up in a
row, looked like one long heel-tread.
We saw lines on their faces, and lines
on the lines.
We decided to see what was wreaking
all this havoc on our once-erect (to a
Piltdown degree) friends; and, for the
first time since repeal, we picked up
the soft, smooth, non-scratching Daily.
The first thing we saw was a sad tale
of woe by Betty Jo Clinton. It was
really quite touching. "The weight of
the university falls on me nearly every
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and
Friday morning," she began. We sobbed
softly, imagining her delicate figure
pinned forlornly under the heavy cor-
nerstone of Fisk hall. We read on.
"I get so I never answer my phone
until afternoon," she wrote. Our quiet
sob becaine louder, as we saw a once-
fair maiden sleeping ofT a heavy absin-
the stupor, oblivious of all the joy in
the Parrot office.
"It isn't that the Daily makes all the
mistakes." We considered this one, and
decided that maybe the UN and Tru-
man contribute their share too. "We
do make mistakes," she modestly ad-
mitted, "but we try hard. We are anx-
ious to learn what we do wrong, but
we don't like to take the blame for
whatever else may happen."
"I'll try in the future," she promised.
That's the stuff, we enthused, wiping
our eyes. Give 'em hell, B.J.! "When
I'm bitter, it's because I so sincerely
want the Daily to be the best we are
capable of. But I know you do, too.
So forgive me."
"We do, we do," we moaned, a fresh
gusher springing from each lachrymary.
The experience was so unnerving that
we couldn't look at a Daily for two
weeks. Then our courage returned
somewhat. "We'll read Dick McLaugh-
lin's sports column this time," we ra-
tionalized. "Dick's always happy and
carefree. His hair even blows in the
wind." We read his column.
"I'm awfully happy," he started.
There, we thought, see that? We looked
at the next paragraph. "I haven't been
able to get a thing in print. Not only
have those night editors been so mean,
but they subject me to punishment:
kidding my bow ties and things like
"My God, no!" we screamed involun-
tarily. "Him too!" We pictured Mc-
Laughlin, his body stretched on a rack
writhing in torture, while a mad-look-
ing pervert of a night-editor alternately
tickled his toes with a feather and made
insane remarks about his bow-tie.
This was too much. We couldn't stand
it. We had to do something. In desper-
ation, we turned to the editorials.
"There's Bill Brown," we rationalized.
He doesn't even care about cracks about
his bow-ties. He'll pick us up."
A paragraph in bold-face type at-
tracted us. We looked at it eagerly.
"The editorial chair-
man of the Daily
has been worrying,
too," it said. We
started to sink, our
glazed eyes catching
the last words as we
slowly sagged to the
ground: "His tux was
stolen last weekend."
Not that, not that, we
thought miserably just
before we blacked out.
A week later we
thought we had recov-
ered. We decided to
pay a condolence call
to the beaten barefoot
boys in the Daily office.
Robed in black, we en-
tered. The place was
deserted, but there was
a large note scrawled
in big red letters on
the bulletin-board. We
went to see.
"The Daily's errors must stop. Hence-
forth the following will be in effect:
(for all staffs):
"Any reporter, desk editor, asst, or
night ed. who handled an erroneous
story or head will be dropped at once
from the staff. B. J. Clinton."
We read this twice, then snorted.
"Hell, she doesn't need any help, the
old meany," we sneered. We staggered
back to the Parrot office.
Overheard in the grill:
"What do you niean. join a fraternity?
I already belong to Sig Chi."
"No kiddin'? So do I. What year
"Funny, that's my year too. Wonder
why we haven't met before. Where
you sit at the meetings?"
"Third row center."
"No wonder we haven't met before.
I sit in the balcony."
We really ought to say something
about Pegasus, we suppose. But after
reading thi-ough an uncomplimentary
(Continued on page 34)
FEBRU AR Y , 1947
PIONEERING IN A NEW RADIO ERA,
TALENTED NORTHWESTERN STUDENTS
BROADCAST ON LOCAL FM STATION;
SPONSORS, PROFESSIONAL LAY-OUT
MAKE WEAWAGOOD DEALFORTHEM
By George Gruenwald
ORTHWESTERN NOW HAS 3 Static-
free, high-fidelity voice. Its students
are cooperating in a unique training
arrangement with the first post-war
radio station, AM or FM, to be allotted
air time in northern Illinois: Evanston"s
Working under professional
conditions, Northwestern stu-
dents, particularly those of
the speech and journalism
schools, are heard regularly
by the estimated 27,000 fre-
quency modulation receiving
set owners along the North Shore and
in Metropolitan Chicago. The station's
275 foot antenna projects newscasts, the
a capella choir, dramatic shows and
special events from lines which link
Northwestern studios with the WEAW
transmitter on the northeast corner of
McCormick and Main in Evanston.
President of the station is Edward A.
Wheeler, a twenty-three-year-old ma-
rine corps veteran who looks like
Robert Cummings. He is a former
Stanford university engineering stu-
Three student radio majors. Bob
Bassindale. Bill Butler and Bob Urban,
each work twenty-two hour weeks as
salaried announcers. Medill's energetic
assistant professor Baskett Mosse, for-
merly of NBC, serves as the station's
director of news and special events,
and Dean Kenneth E. Olson represents
the School of Journalism. Dean James
McBurney and Instructor Donald Fed-
erson of speech school have charge of
the drama productions and the student
version of the Northwestern Reviewing
Stand on WEAW.
Speech school radio playshop per-
formers, music school's a capella choir
and members of both the speech and
journalism school's radio sequences are
regularly heard on WEAW broadcasts.
The sixty-time weekly newscasts are
prepared and announced by Medill
students, who have set-up a big-time
newsroom, complete with the United
Press's full time radio or trunk wire, a
staff of local reporters and a city editor.
With the recently acquired wire re-
corder, Medill's newscasters can cover
any news event at a moment's notice,
rebroadcast the on-the-spot
account as soon as air time is
Assisting in supervising the
news programs originating
from the campus studios are
Arthur Holch, morning news
editor, NBC, Chicago, and Benjamin
Baldwin, member of WGN-Mutual's
The journalism and speech
schools maintain studio equip-
ment and remote lines which
connect them with WEAWs
fifty-by-thirty foot studio.
On Wheeler's end, in addi-
tion to purchasing or renting
the land, getting permission to
transmit, securing a housing
priority, winning city council
permission to erect, and plan-
ning and building the studio,
interior transmission equip-
ment runs around fifteen thou-
sand dollars, while the lofty
antenna is a matter of an addi-
tional six to ten-thousand.
Operational costs are around
twelve-hundred a month.
Broadcasting to an area
which fans out about forty
miles to the north and west of
the station, WEAW programs
can be picked up clearly in
Waukegan, Aurora and Oak
Park. Chicago's tall Loop ■ i
buildings cut down the sta- /\
tion's southward coverage. The
lake is to the east.
Among the outstanding pol-
icies inaugurated by WEAW are two
features whicli will gladden the ears of
the 'class" listener: no newscasts wUl be
interrupted by commercials, no spot an-
nouncements will be made dui'ing
Class A-time (five p.m. to ten p.m.).
Wheeler is leaving "Papa don't buy no
other wine but Paradise Wine" and
"Just the other day" to the AM sta-
tions, at least in the p.m.
Biggest stumbling block for many
such projects, most people believe, is
getting federal permission to undertake
them. Ed Wheeler wants it known that
he ran into absolutely no politics nor
red tape when he flew to Washington,
sans attorney, sans consulting engineer,
and sewed-up his Federal Communica-
tions Commission permit in a
record (for the FM trade) ten
hours. Medill's Dean Olson
says: "It's a grand opportunity
for our students. WEAW gets
trained talent, and the talent
gets a professional outlet."
Right now, broadcasting time
is inexpensive: thirty dollars
for a Class A hour and twenty
for a Class B hour (morning,
early afternoon, after ten at
night) . As the predicted sales
of four inillion FM sets, or sets
having FM circuits, during 1947
swell WEAW's audience, time-
rates will climb, shows will be
given large budgets.
In the beginning, most shows
will be phonograph record se-
lections, radio transcriptions
and special events. However,
Norman Ross. Jr. is already
programing an evening disc
jockey spot, and a pair of avia-
tion authorities are building a
show for the air-minded.
Special service programs are
offered by the Council of So-
(Contmued on page 35)
PREPARING A NEWSCAST— Medlll's radio news laboratory edits,
rewrites all of WEAW's news shows from wire services and own
staff of reporters.
Shown here, from left, are Sheldon Grosse, Hurshul Goldburg, Jim Ward,
Bob Bassindale, Professor Basketf Mosse and Beverly hlollander.
DRAMATIC SHOW— S p e e c h
school students write, direct and
broadcast own dramatic shows on
relay line to WEAW from own
HERE'S A BULLETIN — News announcer Sam Vir+s reads copy with one eye, while other watches
second hand moving toward show's closing time. The end of Sam's speel and 3:44:30 should be
simultaneous, in this case.
TOP NEWS — Richard Tufeld, right, eyes Jim Callaway and Reva Flshman as they
prepare lead news story for his show. Last minute developments on news fronts
sometimes forces newscasters to "tack-up" wire copy.
STUDENT FORUM — Speech school radio players are trained not to rattle scripts,
no matter how tense their parts. Emoting, from left, are Sari Goodman, Don
Alman, Jane Lorenzen.
FLORAL CIRCLE — Dolphin Show mermaids Pat Jonas, Alberta Skolnick, Nellie
Adams, Jane Ann Nunn, Elaine Nish, Pat Rice and Jean Angle form a water
lily pattern, one of the many aquatic designs the water ballerinas presented in
last month's highly successful aqua-ballet.
Under the direction of Big Ten Diving Champ Ronnie Trumble, "Howdy
Pahdner" — a Wild West splash party which shamed Billy Rose's Aquacade
— recently sent Waa-Mu talent scouts underwater.
Original songs, a dry-land choral group and a corps of specialty swimmers
and divers paced the enticing gymnastics of the marine kick-line.
Deserving special mention is fancy high-diver Jeanne Kessler (above right),
the smart costuming, the underwater lighting and the show's overall
GAD, BUT WE WERE THIRSTY last week. Luckily, Photographer Editor Paul
Mollory had his camera handy and Syllabus entrepreneur Walt Kemp had
his new Chevy handy, so . . . SO, we don't know how the deuce that
bowling picture, below, crept in.
In case it had escaped you, this sequence of pictures is a policy story.
Everyone has been telling us that Parrot people— and publications people
in general— are a bunch of automatons who can be turned on and off
merely by shouting "deadline."
We hasten to correct this statement. Any reference, in any language, to
that bountiful brew which so happily mixes with the printer's ink in our
veins has been known to draw quite a response from our staffers.
Now, Kennedy, about that Parrot party . . .
STUDY HALL for Kappa Delt Janie Sivill and Phi Psi Bob Price turns
out to be the Oasis. This just goes to prove that Northwestern
students, no matter where they are, are bookworms.
'INNING— Available Frank Griffith watches bowling shark Nancy Perrin
IS she nets a few pins for her collection at a local ten pin dispensary.
NEAR NORTH SIDE— Art Stevens, Joyce Clohesey, Jack Courtney, J.
Crissey and Available Frank again. Group is holding table for a tri.
who's bringing the folding money. Sarsaparilla is expensive!
WHERE ELSE? — Camera conscious, at least, are Jim Smith, JacI
Bevins, Pot Law, Jac Cremin, Kenny Knudsen, Jean Hendricks
The beer bottles are props.
DERU AND GUESTS MEET — Standing, from left: Chuck Chidsey, Stan Needham, Jim
Vynaiek, John Cooley, George Black, Judd Weinberg. Seated: Bill Riethmiller,
George Gruenwald, Dave Armbruster, Bob Williams, Frank Sayles, Rog Moran,
Swede Johnson, Bucky Buchanan, Dick Trembeth.
FRISKY CHRISTIE, surrounded by a contingent of odmirir
UNKEMPT KEMP — Chicago campus editor of the Syllabus deserts his
bailiwick to close the Club Small. Any similarity between the character
depicted here and Walt Kemp isn't too surprising.
ilCATURE by the Marine Dining Room's cartoonist was a feature of
evening for the crowd pictured at left. We'll not mention the
nesof these people, they get Jpo damn much publicity anyway.
BE-BOP, ETC. — Kappa Sigs and young lady friends aren't sure
whether music at New Del Shore sends them or not. Rugged
man in foreground, obviously peeved with Photog Mallory,
wishes he'd stayed home.
As at other campuses which have undergone
wartime changes, private student lives at
Northwestern are not entirely the rah and
blah they often appear to be on the
On these pages The Parrot presents a few
campus personalities who are taking this
college thing seriously, either from a healthy
desire to eat regularly, or (they assure us)
from sheer love of being occupied.
So If your beer-drinking activities are re-
stricted by homework, and you're bitter,
observe these characters who work in their
free time and thrive on it. It may be a worth-
while idea, we don't know; but we're cer-
tainly thinking about it.
IR MAY QUEEN. Harrie+te Rhawn, Pi Phi. looks as if she
ongs in the flower arrangement being passed from London's
a! ice box by Sigma Nu Ed McGinty. This job helps affiliated
sons pay for play.
O WHITE SHIRTS today, says Speech school junior Dick
■itton, who attempts to palm-off an open-necked substitute on
ur wary photographer. Paul Mallory. Dick clerks in Lytton's
en's furnishings department. z^*^ li-.
MMMMMMM, but Tri Delt model June Austin looks appealing.
June, who's been modeling since her twelfth birthday, works
for Pat Stevens' agency, and regularly appears in national
magazine advertising. I
JIMCRACKS, thingamajigs and hoot-nannies are sold by
5eta Bill Jones, who aims to corner Northwestern's novelty
narket with his Colt automatics which shoot cigarets instead
)f .45 slugs, and his lighters that work!
NOT IN EVANSTON. but Jack Siissmuth promotes Schmidt's
City Club Beer in the Chicago area not included within the
WCTU's "three mile limit." This picture was taken in the
Grill and those bottles aren't real.
VACATION VOCATION of Alpha Chi Barb McDonald an
Phi Gam Bob Gray is sparking George Racine's hard-workin
staff at the Student Book Exchange. Bob and Barb pose, e:
STACKING IN STACKS at Deering is Alec Revell, an ex
marine whose part-time job keeps him constantly "on-the
books." You simply jot a note describing the tome you wish
and Alec does the vigorous rest.
' s Id el Is
BIRD PRINTS, SOLEMN RESOLUTIONS, NOON PRAYERS FOR THE ERRING,
PIOUS WOMEN WITH GOOD INTENTIONS INHABIT EVANSTON'S W.C.T.U.
HEREBY SOLEMNLY PROMISE, God
helping me, to abstain from, all dis-
tilled, fermented and malt liquors, in-
cluding wine, beer and cider, and to
employ all proper means to discourage
the use of and traffic in the same."
Many of us, suffering from swollen
heads on January 1, might have made
this rash resolution only to renege
later on. Yet millions of women who
have never had a hangover take this
vow without thought of reneging.
Sixty-five thousand more did so last
This vow is the membership pledge
of the Women's Christian Temperance
Union. Temperance is spelled a-b-
When you read at the Davis street
"L" station the sign, "W.C.T.U. Na-
tional Headquartei-s two blocks east,"
you may picture a squad of bugle-
beaked gray-haired Methodists bom-
barding a fifth with pea-shooters at
Actually there are neither fifths nor
pea-shooters at national headquarters.
And though there are some aquiline
noses and hoary heads about the prem-
ises, they are not an overwhelming
National headquarters are located at
1730 Chicago avenue. They consist of
two buildings: Frances Willard's Rest
Cottage, now converted into a me-
morial-museum, and the administration
building. The latter houses three of the
five national officers, including Mrs. D.
Leigh Colvin, president, Miss Violet T.
Black, treasurer, and Miss Lily Grace
Matheson. corresponding secretary, and
has a publishing wing and a library.
Here also work the youth organizer,
the male researcher, and the managing
editors of the two official publications:
The Union Signal and The Young
Rest Cottage was the name Miss
Willard's family gave their spacious
fifteen-room dwelling-place. After Miss
Willard died, the cottage was occupied
by Miss Anna Gordon, fourth president
of the W.C.T.U. Today a guide escorts
you through to point out the relics of
Frances Willard was the national
union's second president and the
founder of the world organization.
Commemorating her work in this latter
regard, the W.C.T.U. has preserved in
the reception room of the cottage the
famous Polyglot petition. The petition,
written by Miss Willard, was the first
world-wide proclamation against the
drug and liquor traffic. Scrolls with
seven million signatures representing
fifty nations are shelved alongside the
petition. Included are names from
Turkey, India, Siam, and Iceland.
The entire house, with the exception
of the Anna Gordon room on the first
floor, is decorated with Willard me-
mentos. Even in the bathroom upstairs
there stands the high wooden tub
where Miss Willard spent her Saturday
nights. In the living room there is an
old iron bell given to the W.C.T.U. in
the '80's by some Japanese. They gave
up smoking and had their metal pipes
Photographs of thirty-nine schools
named for Frances Willard throughout
the country, including those in Evans-
ton and Chicago, are kept in the living
room along with pictures of buildings,
streets, museums, plaques, dormitories
and trees bearing the Willard name.
In the dining room individual framed
pictures of twelve birds decorate the
walls. Each bird, the guide said, repre-
sents a different month. Over on the
sideboard are attractive doilies basing
the big bronze beverage containers of
the period. One of the doilies bears
this incriptive command: "Polly put
the kettle on — We'll all have tea."
Upstairs the main attraction is Miss
Willard's study. Everything possible
has been kept exactly as it was when
she was alive. Two pairs of eyeglasses
are on the desk alongside a sign read-
ing "This is my busy day." The Bible
in which Miss Willard made marginal
notes is on a small table. Unfortunately
it is wrapped in cellophane so that one
is unable to determine her critique of
All this fanfare for Miss Willard is
not without justification. She was the
prime mover in the organization. Yet
it is little known by outsiders that this
monosexual institution grew from the
words and convictions of a man.
As a boy, Dio Lewis watched his
mother and his female neighbors suc-
cessfully conduct a war of prayers
against the saloon-keepers of Auburn,
N. Y. They would enter the hooch
houses, drop on their knees, and pray
so intently that even the more sober
patrons would be touched. Because of
the crusade the town went dry. Dio's
father was forced on the wagon,
and home became sweet again.
Some forty years later, in 1873,
Lewis imparted to the women of
Fredonia, N. Y., the same tactics
his mother had used. Out they
marched, praying from one saloon
to the next. Though failing in
Fredonia, the movement caught
fire, and temperance bands mush-
roomed (or toadstooled from the
point of view of the innkeepers)
all over the country. In November
of the following year, the various
groups banded together into a
national organization. The world
W.C.T.U. was formed in 1884 by
Today, the W.C.T.U. is composed of
sixty-one state and territorial units
and represents, on a world scale, fifty-
four nations. Internationally, the or-
ganization is a loose federation with
each nation deciding its own internal
policies to conform with national con-
ditions. In the U. S. each state and
territory has its own organization, with
California and Washington having two
each. Delegates from the state organ-
izations meet once a year in national
convention. The executive council,
which formulates policy, is composed
(Contimied on page 35)
BY E. M. STEINDLER
with Bill Kreutz
(^ WENT INTO Patten Gym last month
completely ignorant of the organization
of a college swimming team. Departing
some while later, iny enthusiasm and
interest in the sport was that of a rabid
supporter. This new interest was
brought about by my acquired under-
standing of the art of swimming. As I
sat watching the boys traveling up and
down the pool, building up endless
laps, developing wind and co-ordina-
tion, one of the men on the team ex-
plained to me the purpose and goal of
perfection they were striving to
achieve. They have been in training
since the fall quarter; practicing two
to three hours a day under the keen
supervision of their coach. Bill Peter-
son. Coach Peterson is starting his
fourth season at the Wildcat helm. The
swimming team, bolstered by several
pre-war stars will launch its 1947 cam-
paign with the expectation of chalking
up points for a successful season.
During the last three years the tank-
ers have kept pace with Big Nine com-
petition. But the greatest disadvantage
to our organization has been the lack
of balance and the absence of good
divers. In the various events the back-
stroke and breaststroke have achieved
for us a majority of our points in com-
petition. Bob Tannehill is one of the
many lettermen whose return will plug
the team. Bob was high-point man in
backstroke and placed fourth in the
Big Nine last year. He is anxious to get
started again to surpass his previous
achievement. Though it seemed doubt-
ful that we would have the assistance
of Don Kauffman this season, he is
back with the team with an even
greater determination to over-
come this handicap.
Another freestyler that should
not be left unnoticed is Bill
Heusner, who is returning to
school in January. Bill placed
second in the national collegi-
ates at Michigan in the 440 yard
free-style and 1500 meters. With
this versatile swimmer N. U.
will be keen competition for
schools well known for their
swimming ability such as Ohio
State and Purdue.
The nature of this article would be
incomplete without relating the color
brought to the meet by the divers. Two
men that have proved their ability as
divers are Chuck Chelich and Ronnie
Trumbull. Although Chuck has not
established a name in college competi-
tion, his ability to be a champion has
been attested. While in the Navy he
took top honors in the Navy Olympic
Open and emerged the victor at the
Men's Army Day Open in Hawaii.
While practicing diving with the swim-
ming team at Fort Lauderdale during
the Christmas holidays. Chuck sprained
his ankle, but he is expected to be in
tip-top condition for the beginning of
the conference meets.
N. U. is starting the season with a
three meter board in preference to a
one meter board, and Chuck finds that
this will be a definite advantage in per-
fecting his stretch before entering the
water. Ronnie Trumbull, who needs
no introduction to the N. U. students
and who has already demonstrated his
superiority to his Big Nine opponents
is back with the team again to continue
bringing success to the wildcat tankers.
Ronnie was Big Nine diving champion
in 1944 and Coach Bill Peterson be-
lives that 1947 will equal his past
I have seen Ronnie and Chuck ex-
hibit their dives with perfection, but it
would take more than just paper and
pencil to give you a description of their
form as they leave the board and enter
the water. Usually when a person steps
off the springboard it is with anticipa-
tion of a soft landing in short order but
these boys do their best to linger in the
air a while before breaking the surface.
Ronnie says that he would like to stop
momentarily in the air, stretch his legs,
extend his arms and curl the toes just
before going in to the water.
This year's conference meets will
have three judges seated to measure
each dive on the basis of one to ten
points. The difficulty of each dive
ranges from 1.6 to 2.4. The various
dives are placed in difficult groups. One
point six is compai'able to a swan while
a one and a half gainer with the one
and a half foi-ward and one and a half
sommersault is measured at 2.4.
PURPLE PAR R T
) \F Eddie Dorset hadn't found the
mermaid, he might still be the idle,
dreamy-eyed bum he was a few years
back. Most people who believe in mer-
maids at all think they are scheming
witches, who'll try to cast an evil spell
on humans they look upon, but it's a
cinch Eddie's mermaid didn't do him
anj' harm. People around Cape Por-
poise thought Eddie was just a damn
fool, going around hunting for troubles,
instead of working at his lobster traps,
like an honest man.
But Eddie would hear none of it. So
the shingles blew off his shack, and
Eddie didn't fix them till the rain had
damped him for days. If Eddie's old
dory sprang a leak, he'd just say it was
a curse of the devil's ill fortune, that
only the best possible luck, like finding
a live mermaid, could counteract. He
didn't begrudge the other residents of
Cape Porpoise the fruits of their labors:
but Eddie was just one of those people
who figured he had something coming
to him the easy way, and as it turned
out, he was right, and after he'd proved
his theory, the rest of the town looked
on him with respectful awe.
But it was tough going, pinning all
your faith on something no one else
really believed in, at all. When Eddie
came up from his beach shack to make
his purchases in town, the kids would
hoot after him for being a tattered,
lazy rascal, he who'd inherited the
rights to a good fishing ground from
his hard-working father. And when
word got around that the skinny lad
wouldn't work at his fishing trade be-
cause he said he'd find a lucky mermaid
one day. the grownups would hardly
even talk to him at all, except Betty
Sawyer, and it was hard on her, with
folks so down on Eddie, and thinking
he was daft.
Betty knew Eddie better than any-
one else in town. She and Eddie had
hunted crabs in the tide pools to-
gether, from the time they were kids,
and after a storm you could find the
two of them out along the rocks,
looking for any birds they could patch
up, that might have been hurt in the
wind. Betty was as pretty as a bit of
brightwork, and she'd been at the
head of her class in school, too, so
when she told folks to stop picking on
Eddie, they did, and no two ways about
it. Betty could have had any lad in
Maine, just for the taking, but she
stuck by Eddie, and people used to say
Betty was going too far with her kind-
ness to dumb animals. But they
Sacue and tUe
wouldn't say it where Betty could hear.
Well. Eddie just set his traps often
enough to keep himself in oilskins and
vegetables, and when he came up to
town, he'd corner anyone who'd listen,
and tell him of the hard luck he was
having with his nets, or his boots, or
the weather. "But just you watch," he'd
say. "Some of these days I'll find that
lucky mermaid, and the world will be
mine.'' And then he'd stride off,
whistling some aimless little melody,
and maybe not be seen in town for
Even Betty could only
stand so much, and there
got to be a time when
she'd just mope around
Doc Sawyer's office in
town, and if a patient
asked her how Eddie was
getting on, she'd get blaz-
ing mad, and say that
Eddie could just go find
his old mermaid by him-
self, for all she cared. It
got so she was even running out with
some of the college boys on weekends,
and times Eddie came into town, he
was downright grumpy, and you
couldn't even get a rise out of him by
asking him if he'd found the mermaid
that would change his luck.
Then, one day he did. No one else
was there when it happened, but Eddie
tells it about like this:
It was one morning after a spell of
foul weather had finally broken up.
The sea was still wild, and the wind
had the buoys clanging like church
bells offshore, but the sky wasn't as
black anymore. It was raining out; and
during ebb tide. Eddie was out along
the shore, hunting for mermaids, or
driftwood, he says now, if he ever men-
tions it, which he doesn't, very often.
Or if he does, he says it kind of as if it
were a joke. But it wasn't, then: not to
Eddie. Anyhow, he came upon a tide
pool, behind some rocks, and there was
his mermaid, just as big as life.
Now, Eddie had been expecting some
By TOD Evans
creature that would be half a goddess,
and half a fish, and that would give him
her blessing and make his life a happy,
prosperous one, right off. But it wasn't
just like that. Instead, Eddie says, it
was a slimy creature with green hair,
and though it was a mermaid and no
mistake, it had that dead sort of look
that a flounder's got in its eyes, and
when it talked, it croaked like a frog.
It was certainly a pretty well be-
draggled mermaid, and not just the
sight Eddie'd expected. But he'd been
waiting for it, all his life, and he admits
he might have built it up
a bit too much, in his
mind's eye. So Eddie
stepped up to the edge of
the tide pool and said
"Good morning." re-
pUed the mermaid, with
a scared look. "Get me
out of this blasted puddle,
"And if I do," said Ed-
die, "what will you do for me?"
"Do for you? Why give you a civil
'thank you', and be off about my busi-
ness. What could I do for you? I have
none of your silly human money."
"Well," said Eddie, "then I'll put you
in a tank, and send you around the
country, on exhibition. People will pay
a lot of quarters to see something they
think is just a figment of their imagina-
The fishy eyes looked human for a
moment, staring at Eddie. "I'm cer-
tainly not a figment of anything, and
besides, I'd die, out of the ocean, and
people will say you're a faker, with a
freak dead fish. You'd never have
seen me at all, yourself, if you hadn't
been expecting to, so hard. I don't
think people will believe I'm what I am,
even if they see me."
Eddie was pretty touched bj- all that
speech, and pretty disappointed, too.
But it was plain that the creature could
do him no good, and he didn't want to
see it die.
"Well, then, I'll carry you back down
to the breakers. No offense. I'd just
been hoping, that was all.'' So he picked
up the thing and carried it across the
sand spit that separated the tide pool
from the water's edge, and let the
mermaid slip into the water.
"That's better," said the mermaid.
"You're a nice boy. And because you've
hoped so hard, and there's no harm in
hoping, I will give you a little good
luck, because a little's all I have to
give. You'd best get back to your lob-
ster pots and your fishing, because
that's yours to be doing, not fooling
around with mermaids, that hard-
working folks don't even have time to
think about. 'We're of no account to
you in your world, nor can you be
anything to us. So I'll be off. Good-
bye." She flipped her scaly tail. "Don't
take any wooden mermaids."
If the mermaid hadn't been every-
thing Eddie had dreamed her to be, she
had given him a touch of her magic,
and he was a happy man. Except that
he was worried about Betty and those
But he got to work that very day,
getting his gear in order, and getting
ready to make the luck work. And
sure enough, it did. I or Eddie's
catches are good ones, and his dory
doesn't leak anymore. He's got a new
roof, and when he sets out in the grey
morning, before anyone else is about,
there's Betty standing in the doorway
of the beach cottage, waving him good-
bye, and helping to make the luck
work. That's a full-time job, and no
one around here ever gives Eddie any
more smart talk about mermaids being
unlucky, either. They know that if
finding a mermaid worked like it did
for Eddie, it would work that way for
Northwestern claims another ex-
quiz kid, Cynthia Cline, who is now-
working toward a master's degree in
"Northwestern also can claim
graduate Quiz kids Cynthia Cline,
now working for her master's degree
in music, . . ."
— Two subsequent paragi-aphs.
— All right, Cynthia, we've got our
claim staked. Now, for God's sake
make up j/onr mind.
HEROES TO JACKASSES
By H. Gordon Lewis
^ HE LINE WAITING TO REGISTER for
classes was longer than it had ever
been in the history of the university.
Some of the students were beginning
to be a bit irritated. "Hell," said one
burly fellow, loudly enough for prac-
tically everyone within twenty feet to
hear, "this is worse than the Okinawa
mess-line. Keerist, I thought I was
through standing in line when I got
Many of the men and women with-
in earshot looked annoyed. Some
shrugged. Only a few looked sympa-
thetic or smiled. "If he doesn't like it,"
one girl half-whispered, "I guess the
university can survive without him."
A short while later, in the grill, sev-
eral men wearing the honorable dis-
charge insignia were talking, again
loudly enough for those sitting in a
wide area to hear. "Well, anyway,"
one of them said belligerently, "I told
them birds that they weren't going to
pull any of that freshman-cap crap
on me. 'Look,' I told them, 'If I pledge
your fraternity, I don't want none of
this freshman-cap or initiation stuff,
jumped all over me.
promising they wouldn't
The attitude adopted
by too many veterans
who have returned to
attend college is unfor-
tunately, best exempli-
fied by one word:
world owes me a living"
idea has spread from its
original conception in
less clear-t h i n k i n g
brains to the minds of
most returned service-
men, with cancer-like
"I'm getting just a
little fed up with these
guys," said one girl
working in the 'Veterans
office. "Every one of
them comes in and
bawls out everybody in
sight because something
is wrong. They're at fault themselves
ninety-nine per cent of the time, of
The attitude of most civilians toward
veteran students is typified by the
owner of a nearby restaurant, a favorite
campus 'hangou*.' "Don't get me
wrong," he warned carefully. "I real-
ize what a terrific job most of these
fellows did. But it just rubs me the
wrong way when I see a bunch of
Joes, who probably would never have
even come to college if the G.I. Bill
hadn't been passed, sitting here griping
and complaining because the govern-
ment isn't giving them enough extra
money or because somebody caught up
with theni buying books they don't
The crux of the whole thing is this:
veterans are creating the same new
impression that they achieved in France
iminediately after liberating that coun-
try. Just as the Frenchmen felt a grow-
ing animosity toward the loud-mouthed
G.I.'s who took over their cities and
called them "frogs," so a lot of Ameri-
cans, in lesser way, of course, are be-
"Willard. who in the hall do you u-ant?"
Page 2 8
PURPLE PARR T
ginning to pronounce the term "vet-
eran" with a decidedly unpleasant
Any thinking veteran will see at
once that he is really the cause for
the long line, and that he, who wishes
to appear more mature and less "col-
legiate," should be the last to gripe
about trivial things; and many take
In the mind of the veteran who re-
turns to college, such things as school
spirit, fraternities, and campus activi-
ties are beneath his dignity. He doesn't
applaud or cheer at football games,
adopting a "who cares?" attitude he
hopes is blase; he shuns fraternities,
on the ground that they are childish,
but actually because he hates to be a
pledge — ask any veteran to join as a
full member and you will get few state-
ments that fraternities are childish; and
he does not enter into campus activities
because he is, he says, spending his
time on more important things.
This explanation might be swallowed,
except for one thing: veterans who
were in fraternities before leaving for
the armed forces have almost unani-
mously returned to active offices in
that fraternity; college athletic teams
are composed mainly of veterans who
obviously have some school spirit; and
campus activities are shot through with
The only conclusion to be reached
from these facts is that a lot of veterans
are misanthropes, and the fault lies
with no one but themselves. They have
come back from the army expecting en-
tirely too much, and are angry when
no one jumps to attention when they
snap their fingers.
These veterans, who so blandly ac-
cuse everyone within shouting dis-
tance of childishness, are certainly
guilty of that trait themselves, for they
more so than any other students, are
likely to sulk and gripe when some-
thing goes wrong; they, more than any
other students, are likely to devote
their time to trivialities; and they,
more than any other students, are
likely to place the blame on anyone
Naturally, a lot of veterans are not
included in these classifications; and it
is they who are most harmed by the
belligerent attitude of the others, for
sooner or later they will be included
when the puble begins to think of the
term "veteran" with a sneer; the
philosopher who said, "All generaliza-
tions are false, including this one,"
was certainly correct — and the veteran
who has made an effort to understand
and meet the situation halfway is just
in his anger at being included in a
group who has denied all efforts at
The great misfortune about the whole
thing is that veterans do not see that
they are only harming themselves by
this attitude of supercilious superiority.
In France, they could call the people
"Frogs" and get away with it; in
Korea, they could call them "Gooks"
and nothing would happen; and in the
United States they can adopt the same
attitude and get away with it for
a while. But anyone who has observed
the reactions of Frenchmen and Kore-
ans can predict the result of this out-
look: those same Frenchmen who
cheered their liberators cheered even
more when American soldiers were
Greek and Norse mythology is full
of legends of people being turned into
animals; only American mythology has
the story of war heroes being turned
A Box of Life-
savers for the
What is the
best joke that
you heard on
the campus this
week? For the
there Mill be a
free award of a
carton of Life-
will be judged
by the Editor.
Submit them at
the Parrot of-
"Well, let's put it this way, I'm
majoring in physical education."
Pa: "Well, son, how are your
Son' "They're under water."'
Pa: "What do you mean, under
Son: "Below 'C level."
wooug Ejf t m
You might be — if you love onions and men too!
They just don't go together. Honey! Unless, that is,
you keep your breath sweet with yummy Life Savers.
Then, you're in the groove right. You can go on loving
onions, men, and of course you'll love Life Savers, too.
^ "In the groove" backwards
F E BR VARY, 1947
Page 2 9
CHICAGO CONTACT LENS CENTER
SEE WITHOUT GLASSES
"They Last a Lifetime"
Evenings by appointment
No One We Know
Hoos Drug Store
(From page 10)
The world did not affect William Casey.
Neither did he affect the world. Wil-
liam Casey was looking at some cows
grazing, when the bus tire exploded.
As the bus turned over on the embank-
ment, the cows came up to meet him.
William Casey was as happy as he
4^ * *
John Anders, management consultant
and candidate for the vice-presidency
of the Society for the Advancement of
Commerce, bought a round-trip bus
ticket for Southville. The Society for
the Advancement of Commerce was
scheduled to hold its post-war election
in Southville the following day.
Mr. Anders unzipped his tkree-sided
notebook and took out his commeixial
journal. As the bus rolled toward
Southville, Mr. Anders' mind was clut-
tered with secular trends, motion and
time studies, and theories of the busi-
ness cycle. There was a new lag and
lead theory, an offshoot of the business
cycle, which might conceivably yield a
fortune if properly applied.
Occasionally, Mr. Anders' thought-
trenched brow would relax, but only
long enough to review his calculations.
When he began anew, his forehead fur-
rowed as if to drain any loose thoughts
into the working area. The figuring
soon became so complex that he was
forced to rest.
His respite consisted of writing an
acceptance speech for his nomination as
vice-president of the S.A.C. The usual
acceptance would do. Mr. Anders was
a businessman, not a speechmaker. He
had impressed that fact upon his sub-
ordinates with a sage "actions speak
louder than words."
The hope of procuring a fortune,
hov/ever, soon spoke louder than the
necessity for writing a speech, even a
speech of acceptance before the S.A.C.
Mr. Anders had a moment of illumi-
nating insight: why not use Fischer's
ideal index as supplement to multiple
correlation? He was writing the formula
of the ideal index when the bus tire
exploded. As the bus turned over on
the embankment, he suddenly remem-
bered that he had not eliminated type
He would have to start all over.
# * •*
She frowned once more, this time at
the crusts of toast her husband had left.
"Three people were killed and ten
others injured when a Transcity Bus
overturned late last night ten mUes
from the city. A defective tire was
blamed, according to a Coveral Insur-
ance Company representative. Those
killed in the crash were . . ."
"Anyone we know?" asked her hus-
"No, no one we know," Mrs. Wilsome
answered abstractedly, as she folded
the paper, frowned, and began clearing
the breakfast dishes.
Get the Huddle Habit
^'hether for breakfast or that morning cup of coffee
. . . lunch or afternoon tea . . . dinner or late evening
snack — it's always the Huddle — the place to meet your
Now open from 7 A.M. until 12 midnight.
-in the Orrington Hotel
Photo by Paul Mallorij
Jazz in Chicago
(From page 11)
In the early thirty's he found himself
in journalistic outburst over jazz and
its stepson, 'swing,' introduced by a
clarinetist named Goodman. In 1935 in
the English pamphlet "Hot News,"
Miller's first article was published. He
jumped quickly to Down Beat in 1936,
and continued as contributing editor
and record reviewer through 1939. Dur-
ing his final year with the local journal
he earned the distinction of being the
first American critic to edit a book
dealing exclusively with jazz — "Down
Beat's Yearbook of Swing." Miller re-
calls that it was on the presses a short
two months before Charles Edward
Smith's "Jazzmen." His editing tasks
expanded in 1940 when he accepted
editorship of the new Music and
Rhythm magazine. The venture folded
after eighteen months of intermittent
success. Meanwhile, he was contribut-
ing material to "'Who's 'Who in Music."
The success of Esquire's famous
"Jazz Book," which has been published
three times since 1944, was due prin-
cipally to Miller's slick handling. Es-
quire had the idea for the book in 1943,
and late that summer commissioned
Miller to handle the details. For the
introductory copy in January, 1944,
and the two follow-ups in "45 and '46,
Miller supervised the production, se-
lected the photos, and wrote captions
and articles. But his most significant
work in each of the books and that of
which he is proudest are projects that
involved twenty years of research. His
"Historical Chart of Jazz Influences"
was a bird's-eye view of the '44 issue,
while the map of Storeyville, the orig-
inal jazz stomping ground in New Or-
leans, was offered in the following
year's manual. For the most recent
Jazz Book, he devised a map of Chi-
cago jazz. To students of hot music
history, the diagrams have been in-
valuable aids, hitherto unavailable.
Esquire's uncommon affection for jazz
resulted in further expansion of its
cultural promotion. In mid-1945 the
magazine gave Miller and a renouned
colleague, Leanard Feather, two full
pages an issue for a regular depart-
ment called "The Rhythm Section."
The two quickly won an enthusiastic,
wide-spread audience. Splitting vari-
ous assignments. Miller and Feather
were allowed a free hand and became
responsible for some of the most learned
dissertations in jazz criticism. Unfor-
tuately, however, the celebrated de-
partment locked shop after the Febru-
ary, 1946, issue. An Esquire reorgan-
ization sent Editor Arnold Gingrich to
Switzerland as European Editor, and
the editing job was taken over by the
magazine publisher, David Smart, who
had little enthusiasm for hot music.
He dropped the "Rhythm Section," and
Miller was jobless as far as Esquire
was concerned. For the past several
months. Miller's attention has been on
his own jazz manual. An up-to-date,
enlarged edition of the "Miller Year-
book of Jazz," it will be completed and
printed this year, he hopes. More of
an encyclopedia than the original book,
the 1947 version is scheduled to contain
additional history, biography, technical
4. W, Zengeler Co.
Cleaners - Dyers
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so why not let us
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F EBR VARY, 1947
"7/76 choice of all desserts"
Shirley ^IcCarthy Tri Delt
and Bill Cuthbertson, Phi
Kappa Psi, relax after class-
es at Hill Drug Store . . .
headquarters for cosmetics
and all pharmaceutical sup-
HILL DRUGS 601 Davis St. Gre. 0405
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information, and record listings.
An extensive, varied library is Mil-
ler's source for the philosophic and
aesthetic standards which he applies to
jazz. He has a comprehensive record
collection of hundreds of waxings oi
good and bad jazz in all classifications,
the most prized of which are a number
of private recordings not available to
Insofar as records go. Miller is em-
phatic about a couple of things. He
says, "There ought to be a lot more
listening to records and a lot less dis-
cussion about them. Regardless of
whether you like one or not, you ought
to recognize and agree upon a good,
vigorous performance — or one that's
Miller has formulated a broad list
of recordings that are among his favor-
ites. While the selection is a random
one, he finds little of contemporary
nature with which to compare them.
"Old Miss" — Becht — Mezzrow sextet
(West Coast label).
"Creole Lullaby"— Carnival Three:
Omer Simeon, clarinet; Pops Foster,
bass: J. P. Johnson, piano (disc).
"Dear Old Southland" — Sidney
Becht's quartet (Blue Note).
"St. James Infirmary" — Artie Shaw
■'Memphis Blues" — Muggsj' Spanier
"Ko-Ko"— Duke Ellington (Victor).
"Workingman Blues'' — Lu Watters
LOST A\iU FOUND
"If you have lost a skirt — inquire at
The Book Nook, 1724 Orrington, Gre.
— University Hall bulletin board
Of all places to look, if
Your cheinise is gone from the hook,
And you dasn't suspect the cook,
(Size 42) . . . We hasten to add,
(Advertisers please don't get mad)
That stray skirts are lost at
The Book Nook.
And if your dirndle is gone, by heaven.
Do not hesitate to call Gre. 0-2-2-7
(They may have it.) As for men's
And sundry unmentionables, let's be
Boys, and tidy-up. try to be neat,
You may find them 'neath the Ford's
If not. call Greenleaf 0-2-2-7.
— B. B. E.
PURPLE P.4 RROT
Here comes Spring
with the greatest of all
sports parades. Don't
get caught in the
equipment shortage . . .
come in today for golf.
tennis, baseball, etc. supplies.
The North Shore's
Largest Sporting Goods
"Misty" Danne, A. O. Pi
Portrayed at your best —
a responsibility we
C^uaene cJL, i'^a
Official photographer for
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Life and Movies
(From page 14)
is the hero. And can he take it! In
seventy-four minutes of mystification,
the theater-goer sees the hero black-
jacked at least three times, shot at
continually and hit occasionally, run
over, thrown in the bay for dead, shot
full of dope, and engaged in a knock
down, drag out affair with some Nean-
derthal character whose back he event-
ually breaks. From all this he emerges
with a smudge on his lapel and five-
o'clock shadow. Until forty seconds
before the ending, no one knows who
did what or why, if the hero will clear
himself, if the heroine will get her scoop
to the Gazette in time, or what. No
more does one patron nudge another
and say with certainty, "The butler
done it." Incidentally, the present de-
plorable lack of cooperation between
the citizens and the police force is due
entirely to the movies. In them, the
police never solve anything.
Today's musicals are hardly worth
the mention. They all fit into the tried
and true, well known pattern. Hero
wins song writing contest. Quits jerk-
ing sodas. Wants to go to big city and
become big success. Scene with small
eared, big busted girl friend. Music
from trees. Next scene. Hero starves
to death playing piano in Bowery dive.
Enter old girl friend, a huge success
as Broadway singer. Love scene. More
music from trees. No trees. She ar-
ranges audition. He is success. They
marry. More success. War is declared.
Hero enlists. Tearful farewell. Whole
damn boatful of smiling soldiers happy
to go. all singing eight-part harmony.
The Front Lines. Hero chokes on Red
Cross do-nut. In hospital nineteen
months. Armistice. Goes home. Wife
toast of Broadway. He's unknown. Can't
click. Much pride. Seperation. He sells
neckties. She buys minks. Both un-
happy. Ten years later. Hero swallows
pride. People not buying neckties.
Heroine getting old. Third party tells
them they're going to have triplets.
Happy reunion. Love scene. Full or-
chestration from trees. Kiss. Curtain.
The only possible variations to this
theme are different locations, songs or
wars. Once in a while some ingenious
script writer makes the heroine a sis-
ter act or the hero a three-man act.
Otherwise the plot remains true to
form. The moviegoer sits back during
the showing and relaxes. He knows
that the songs will be a success, at least
(Co7itinued on page 39)
. . . whenever you appear in your
new light-weight suit from
712 Church St.
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BIRD'S EYE VIEW
(From page 15)
copy of the Mobilgas magazine, which,
since we belong to a fellow-magazine,
cost us only fifty cents, we must confess
that we were somewhat nonplussed:
After a somewhat puzzling foreword,
where a number of quotations seemed
to be interjected in the wrong place,
we came to the table of contents, which,
except for the information that this was
the "Don Geiger"' edition, puzzled us
even further. We quickly turned to the
first poem: it was one of William
"EgadI" we cried. "Is he on their
staff too? Or is that just one of Geiger's
pen-names?" We never did find out,
because we got lost somewhere in the
maze of scrawled horses and toga-clad
inaidens drawn promiscuously all over
We turned to the first story and im-
mersed ourself in a profound Socratic
"O.K. Ray — you won't tell — about
this afternoon — will you?"
"Cross vour heart?"
"Cross my heart."
"Are you sure?"
"Sui'e I'm sure."
We weren't so sure. We read on.
Another short-story, this time a fairy-
tale. And on, and on, through poems
by Edward Arlington Robinson, Robin-
son Jeffers, Jefferson Walters, and Walt
Whitman, to say nothing of one Don
Geiger. Oh, well — this isn't so bad —
wonder if that 1926 National Geogra-
phic will still be on my dentist's table
when I finish this — until, suddenly —
" 'Hip kaniniky, hop kasiyiiky
Boovi, a-lay-ala aloochi.' "
We arose quietly and calmly and
composedly, shook the seeds out of our
lapels, and walked over to a girl
crouching in a corner of Scott hall
selling the magazines. "We'd like our
money back, Taboochi," we said deter-
minedly, our eyes flashing a brilliant
"O.K.," she said. "You won't tell —
about this — will you?"
"Cross your heart?"
"Cross my heart."
"Are you sure?"
"Sure I'm sure."
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TEAROSE BRA TO MATCH
She stopped to turn the page. We
quickly reached out, grabbed a half-
dollar, and ran down the corridor,
The great solid peace had settled. We
strode down to the basement of Harris
hall, our muttered words keeping time
with our footsteps: "With a boomlay,
boomlay, boomlay, boochi. ..."
EMANC\PA1\NQ THE FREE PRESS
We are really happy to note that
Daily and WEAW sports editor Mc-
Laughlin is finally taking beginning
Reporting class. Now, if the rest of the
staff would take Remedial Reading AA-
1, our paper would be a real threat to
Sears & Roebuck's catalogue.
Good boy, Dick. Give 'em hell, man!
THE OTHER HALF
After nearly four years of bewildered
pondering, we have finally discovered
what a full professor is full of.
EAT TO ME ONLY
Losing both incisors in Cooley's mys-
teriously concrete filet mignon, we
lisped out a weak complaint to a re-
markably unconcerned waitress. "I'm
sorry, sir," she told us sweetly, "the
food isn't too good today — they're
painting in the basement."
So trailing Army, Rockne told his
boys these dying words from the
— The Chicago Sun
Nu? Maijhe at Notre Dame Marshall
Goldberg you are expecting?
Best remedy for ?
colds -CX 14 I
^ Hoos Drug Store
1 726 Orrington Gre 2600
Page 3 4
(From page 16)
cial Agencies, U. S. Social Security,
U. S. Employment Service and the
Evanston Health Department.
Although there are other Chicago-
area FM stations — WDLM. WGNB,
WBBM-FM, WEFM, WEHS. to name a
few — WEAW is the only one which is
specifically dedicated to service daily
newspaperless Evanston and the North
Shore. It is also the only privately
owned Chicago-area FM station, and
the only one to begin a full time sched-
ule since the war's end. At present,
the station operates from three to ten
p.m., Monday through Friday; noon to
ten p.m., Saturday, and ten a.m. to ten
p.m., Sunday. WEAW-FM's effective
radiated power is 1.000 watts, and it
operates on the 104.3 megacycle band.
(From page 25)
of the general officers, the past presi-
dents, the state presidents, general sec-
retaries of the Youth Temperance
Council and the Loyal Temperance Le-
gion, the board of department directors,
the board of field secretaries, and the
managing editors of The Union Signal
and The Young Criisader.
Besides the national-state hierarchy,
the W.C.T.U. is divided into branches,
bureaus, and departments. The branch-
es include the Youth Temperance
Council for teen-agers and college
students, and the Loyal Temperance
Legion for young boys and girls. Ac-
cording to Miss Matheson there is even
a branch for babies; that is, for moth-
ers who wish to dedicate their new-
born children to total abstinence.
"We have a representative of our
legislative bureau in Washington," Miss
Matheson revealed, "and the state or-
ganizations make themselves heard in
the state capitols when opportunities
"We will be especially interested in
the forthcoming Capper bill seeking to
ban liquor advertising," remarked the
secretary. "Of course, we will back any
bill or proposed amendment designed
to bring back prohibition."
Miss Matheson says: "The liquor
manufacturers and dealers propagan-
dized the people into believing that
prohibition could not work." She did
not touch upon whether passing a law
could eliminate drinking while basic
social maladjustments remain un-
SCOTCH WOOL SHOP
17 30 S h e r m a n A\^e n ii e
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I Hoos Drug Store
During the recent election, the local
chapters of the W.C.T.U. were instru-
mental in helping to get some of the
Sixty-third street precincts in Chicago
to vote dry.
Temperance advocacy, however, is
not confined to prohibition of alcoholic
beverages. Miss Matheson pointed out.
She emphasized also that the organiza-
tion is concerned with more than tem-
"We want abstinence from all nar-
cotics and drugs, including tobacco.
But we are especially interested in the
instruction of boys and girls in clean
and healthful living. Our goal is the
achievement of a moral Christian so-
Indeed, included in one of the official
booklets are statements favoring ex-
tension of the civil service, internation-
al cooperation, uniformity in marriage
and divorce laws, and comprehensive
(Co7itinued on page 38)
You will feel like
While dining and
I ni. 8420
God and The Coal Cellar
Get knittin', kitten
♦ Knitting bags
♦ Sweaters cleaned
♦ Slip-ons cut
LITTLE KNIT SHOP
By Robert ] a go da
W SHALL NEVER FORGET an event that
was contemporaneous with the stock
market crash of '29. While the
bottom was dropping out of Wall
Street, international trade was coming
to a halt, and the major world powers
were abandoning the gold standard,
I was busily engaged in undressing a
little girl under her back porch steps.
Unaware of the calamity of '29, I, at
the age of seven, had told Dorothy
Ecke that she looked awfully ill, and
that I was a doctor.
I distinctly remember telling grand-
ma about my experience. She was
shocked. She sent me to bed without
supper. She consulted grandpa. She
came into the bedroom with a bowl
of warm soup and a worried frown
on her face.
''God will punish you, Bobby," she
said. "If you ever undress Dorothy
again, I'll put you in the coal cellar for
Grandma's loss of a few thousand
dollars had influenced her concept of
child discipline, and I was left to await
the just wrath of God, and to avoid the
I ran to a far-away playground,
knowing that the little girl's mother
wouldn't let her cross a street, or leave
our block. I found many new play-
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mates, and almost forgot the magnitude
of God and the threat of the coal cellar.
Unfortunately, my new friends had
opened the neighborhood marble tour-
nament. With the tournament came the
terrible swear words that young men
learn from their parents. Every time
a last marble was at stake, its owner
would curse, "goddamit, you missed
my blue agate by a mile."
I could not bear the repeated allusion
to our deity; every reference to Him
reminded me of my unforgivable crime.
"God will punish me," I thought, and
stayed away from the playground. I
sincerely wanted to become a doctor —
in fact, I wanted to become almost any-
thing that would show God I was
As an excuse for keeping me indoors,
away from Dorothy, I began breeding
grasshoppers in grandma's Mason jars.
I soon accumulated a vast collection of
bugs from oui- garden, and experi-
mented with them in the attic of our old
frame house. Grandma found me out.
She made me stay outdoors, where I
was again at the mercy of the little
I remember Dorothy well. She was
very pretty; she wore her long, blonde
hair in braids — with pink ribbons at-
tached. Her eyes were sparkling blue,
and she had a charming, unaffected
Dorothy wanted me for her beau;
she was bored with the general run of
neighborhood pastimes. When, fearing
the coal cellar, I ran from her, she
would chase me, shouting, "Docta,
docta!" She invariably rang our back
door bell, on tip-toes, not knowing that
I had concealed myself under the porch
steps. Finally, after manj' attempts to
seek out my companionship, she told
her mother that I refused to play with
Mrs. Ecke paid a visit to my grand-
"Your grandson won't play with my
Dorothy, Mrs. Talman," she said, "and
I think it's rather mean of him. Doro-
thy is a nice child, even if she is
highly excitable. Will you please ask
Bobby to play with her? I'll buy them
some cand_v and ice-cream."
Grandma spoke with me. She had
obviously forgotten her threat to send
(Continued on page 3S)
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Special Counselor —
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135 colleges ami uiiirersitips
By Harriette Rhawn
1^ STAY IN THE KITCHEN mOSt of the
time. It's warm in the kitchen. Be-
sides, I can talk to the linoleum there.
I wash egg stains off breakfast dishes
and watch the other girls go to school.
Daddy used to teach me. He's gone
now. He's been gone an awfully long
time now. We have ten boarders and
I have to help Mother. I stay in the
kitchen most of the time. That way I
don't have to smile. The pock marks
are more noticeable when I smile.
Daddy'd been gone five years to the
day when Sally came to live with us.
I remember because it was my twelfth
birthday, and Mother said I could pick
tulips in the back yard if I got the walls
washed down by eight.
I finished the ironing and started on
the walls. I remember it plain. I liked
the back yard. The tulips were my
childi-en and we played games to-
gether. It's very friendly and dark in
our back yard.
It was almost eight o'clock when the
door bell rang. She doesn't let me an-
swer the door, so I opened the kitchen
door a crack. Mother saw me, and
made a frown face. She looks at me
that way a lot. Like she didn't feel so
good and seeing me made it worse.
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For colds... CXI 2 -CXI 4 |
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She frowned, and then answered the
I heard her gasp, and saw her bend
over. She looks funny when she bends
over, like two mountains. I wanted to
But in a second she came into the
living room with a baby girl. It was
screaming, but Mother made funny,
soft noises at it, and took it on her lap.
Pretty soon it went to sleep.
That's how Sally came to live with
us. She just came and stayed.
Mother made out like she didn't
know where the baby came from. She
examined her clothes . . . just like she
hadn't known about it all the time. I
knew Mother had ordered it from the
market. It came in a grocery basket.
"I must tell the police about this to-
morrow," she said. I knew she wouldn't.
She was trying to fool me. I knew right
then that Sally would be my new
I stood in the kitchen door and
watched. I guess I forgot about my
bhthday and the tulips.
Mother's eyes looked all different
when she rocked Sally in her arms.
"She's such an adorable little thing."
she whispered softly. "Such a pretty
child. Let's call her Sally, Uttle SaUy
sunshine." Then she leaned over and
kissed her. I saw her.
Next morning I was awakened by a
high tinkling laugh. Mother was laugh-
ing, too. I came into the kitchen from
my room behind the pantry ... I
thought something was wrong. Mother
doesn't laugh much.
There in my old high chair sat the
baby. Mother was giving her a bottle
of milk. Sally had blonde curly hair,
and blue eyes . . . like our gentians,
only lighter, and more like blue sparkle.
And Mother . . . why, she looked so
different. Her face was clean and her
eyes so kind. She said new things, like
"angel" and "precious."
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We got along all right after the baty
came cause I did most of the cooking.
Mother was with Sally all the time.
I was to be her "big sister," and
prepared the dainty white trays for the
little table that Mother had painted
white, washed pastel smocks, and
polished white shoes. Months and
months went on like this.
Mother did the bathing, the story-
telling, and the loving. Sally even had
a birthday party, with candles on her
cake . . . two shiny candles. I could
hear them laughing at the party from
They were always laughing, Sally
and Mother. I wouldn't have minded
so much if I hadn't heard the laughing
... all the time . . .
I couldn't talk to the linoleum be-
cause it wouldn't answer me any-
more. And when summer came again
and the tulips bloomed, I didn't have
time to even touch them. There was
always so much to do . . . and even after
diapers, there was so much to do.
Sally used to cry when I came near
her. Mother usually kept me away.
She said I scared the baby.
But when she was three. Sally was
no longer afraid of me. She would
throw her toys across the room, then
say "Doll!" . . . and Mother would
make me pick it up and bring it back
Sally was willing to go with me. one
day when I got her up from her nap
while Mother was at the store. I told
her I wanted to show her a secret place
in the woods. I knew where the hired
man kept the hatchet.
She screamed like a stuck pig.
I went home and picked some tulips.
GOD AND COAL CELLAR
(From page 36)
me to the coal cellar, (or she was
induced by the offer of ice-cream),
for she said, "If you don't play with
Dorothy. God will punish you."
I played with Dorothy. I defined the
limits of our friendship, and told her
about God. Dorothy wasn't content
with my explanations, if she under-
stood them at all.
She abandoned our games of ball-
and-jacks and hide-and-go-seek, and
pretended to be sick. She repeatedly
mentioned the word. Doctor, and had
tantrums when I hid from her. I was
extremely miserable for the entire
afternoon, until Dorothy disappeared.
Then, when I didn't see her on the
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following morning. I worried about the
possibility of a future visit from Mrs.
Neither appeared at our house. I
began to think that both had been
punished by God. and I was happy. I
celebrated my new found happiness in
a profitable game of marbles at the
far-away playground. On returning
home with my winnings. Dorothy con-
fi-onted me in the yard.
She was smiling. "Me nurse." she
said. She undressed me on the back
porch — I wondering if a nurse, too. was
in the province of the Almighty.
(From page 35)
federal child-labor legislation. The or-
ganization is opposed to peacetime mil-
In their hustle and bustle, the women
have not forgotten the second letter in
W.C.T.U. On the day of the interview,
preparing to leave, I saw the switch-
board operator on the main floor of the
administration building walk up to a
string of suspended Oriental gongs, and
whack them five times in descending
order. They sounded like the tone
beats on the old Farm and Home hour.
Miss Matheson e.xplained that this
ceremony heralded the daily prayer
period when all members pray for the
abolition of the liquor traffic.
"We pray at noon the world over."
When I glanced at a nearby clock
which read 11:40. she apologized: "We
eat an early lunch here."
Miss Matheson and her associates
throughout the world are intent upon
making real, through their interpreta-
tion, the conviction of Miss Willard:
"To help forward the coming of Christ
in all departments of life is. in its last
analysis, the purpose and aim of the
(/Jennett 1 1 lusic ^lioi)
Everything in music
1148 Central Ave.
Page 3 8
P I RP LE PARROT
909 Maple Ave.
Repairs, rentals, bought,
sold, traded. . .
e remodel and
e clean and
Fred C. Labich
R. P. Bartcl
Northwestern Sweat Shirts
\^ e have just received a
complete new stock in all
sizes, both the N.U. seal
and Wildcat design.
Don't wait; get yours
now. If you can't get in,
call us and we'll deliver
1731-33 Sherman Ave.
Evanston Gre. 4604
Life and Movies
(From page 33)
in the movie, that they will eventually
reunite, and that everything will turn
out happily in the end.
There are types of movies other than
Westerns, mysteries and musicals. Once
or twice a year, a producer will stum-
ble on a new idea. If it flops, it is
forgotten. If it's a success, all the other
studios steal the idea. Lately, there's
been an epidemic of twin sister plots.
It's just about milked dry, so I imagine
that a twin brother cinema will hit the
Leo McCary hit the jack-pot on mov-
ies with a religious theme. He began
with "Song of Bernadette." then "Going
My Way," and "Bells of St. Mary" . . .
and last year paid more income tax
than anyone else in the U. S. His most
recent and inost unusual idea came
recently. He's going to film the story
of "Adam and Eve." I predict that he
will have trouble not only with the
censors but even before that. Casting
the two major parts will be extremely
difficult because at present all the Hol-
lywood greats have navels.
Today's housewife is no longer inter-
ested in the goings on of her neighbors.
She can get more dirt with less strain
by reading the latest Hollywood gossip
column. As soon as hubby takes off for
the 8:15 and the kids are shooed off to
school, she curls up with a box of bon-
bons and the latest copy of "Screen
Screams." Movies are pi'obably more
responsible for breaking up families in
the last ten years than all the whiskey,
traveling salesmen and blond secre-
taries in the last fifty. Husbands just
don't act masterful like Gregory, and
wives never look like Lana esnecially
across the breakfast table. Incidentally,
the modern school boy is far more in-
terested in the adventures of the movie
hero off the screen than on.
Movies too have caused a warping in
the chronological lives of women. Due
to their influence, its takes a female
thirty years to get fi-om ninteen to
twenty. At fourteen she tries to look
like twenty and continues in that en-
deavor till she gives up at forty-four.
I can't understand why people, in-
cluding myself, go to picture shows. I
guess it's because of that overwhelming
feeling one gets when emerging from
the corner Bijou. "How simple and un-
complicated life really is compared to
Expressing in every detail the
classic beauty identified with the
last century. The fine depth of
design attains new heights of
707 Church St.
FEBRUARY. 19 47
The Parrot Stand
1^ HIS IS WHAT SOME
might call an omnibus
klead. It seeks to intro-
'duce you to a series of
short editorial queries,
statements of policy and
''stands" set forth here for the edifica-
tion of those who do not take the
trouble to probe beneath the sur'ace
of the froth, churned-up, for the most
part, by subsidiaries of Mr. Joe W.
Miller's Student Affairs office.
After examining ourselves in the
light of Daily Northwestern criticism —
on the whole very laudatory and,
hence, accurate — we find that people
are still confusing this magazine with
Judge, Captain Billy's Whizz-Bang and
The Harvard Lampoon, with a funda-
mental (sic!) shot of The Kenyan Re-
view. To these people, we point to our
logo-underline: Northwestern Univer-
sity's Magazine of Collegiate Life. To
these people we say: The Purple Parrot
is not primarily a humor magazine,
because Northwestern students are not
primarily humorous persons. They are
upon occasion ridiculous, complex,
"cute," confused, pathetic, immature,
idealistic, intellectually naive, brilliant
and, not very often, whimsical. The
Piirple Parrot, as indicated by its name,
is an organ which serves as a tongue-
in-cheek recorder of the activities of
this kaleidoscopic collegiate life. So,
please don't criticize us for not being
funny — it's only because you're not.
EXAMS AND THE HONOR SYSTEM
As long as Mortar Board, Pan-Hel
and the faculty have dedicated them-
selves to discussion of the question, this
student publication would like to slip
a paragraph in edgewise.
The Picrple Parrot recommends the
abolishment of all formal examina-
tions (of the present type) in favor of
term projects or theses, except in cer-
tain courses of study where the nature
of the subject matter makes it im-
We've always felt that it's more
important to appreciate the implica-
tions of information, and to know
where to find supporting information
for these implications, than it is to
develop a facile rote memory. We real-
ize this is a rather post-graduate, ma-
ture approach to the problem of exam-
inations, and we wouldn't be annoying
you with it if we believed in the prac-
ticability of the honor system and a
faculty urge to construct questions for
that system. But, you can't get every-
one to scrap yellowed lesson plans and
palaeozoic examination questions with-
in a quarter's time.
Personally, we're able to draw con-
clusions of some import from the lec-
tui-es we attend and the reading we are
required to digest. We are doubtful,
however, of the advantages of com-
mitting to memory the vessels of this
information. It irritates us to think our
academic standing is, for the most part,
based on the ability to return a carbon
copy of our instructors' lecture notes,
complete with bibliography, at the end
of each quarter.
The time most of us dedicate to mem-
orizing a series of "facts" in prepara-
tion for the tri-annual inquisition
seems almost empty in comparison to
the same amount of time, if spent in
investigating the implications of our
notes, and in drawing conclusions from
the results of these investigations.
Whenever we take a "final," we're
never quite able to resist the
idea that it seems pretty foolish
for college students to be tested
in the same manner, and with
the same form of questioning,
as grammar school students.
Of course, this does make it
easier for some of us.
The Parrot has been taking
friendly jabs at The Daily
Northioestern since its birth-
day, twenty-six years ago.
We've seen that publication,
which is so much a part of the
life of Northwestern, during its
polished, professional days
under Jim Ward, during its
struggling, w a r-t i m e days
under hard-working young women and.
now, as it valiantly makes its way back
to prewar stature. The Daily still has
a whopping bagful of short- comings,
but they're all certainly not to be at-
tributed to its ambitious staff.
For one thing, the Daily North-
western, which may roll-up an all-
time profit high this year because of its
dynamic business staff and the careful
guardianship of the Board of Pubhca-
tions, is published a good long bus ride
from here, in Des Plaines. We've
worked on both the editorial and busi-
ness staff of the Daily, and know that
this place of publication is one of the
primary drawbacks. Long-distance
supervision of the Parrot — with is an
accumulation of printed matter from
New York, Milwaukee, Chicago and
Evanston — is plausible, with monthly
deadlines. For the Daily, however, un-
less editorial and business executives
can be in regular, close contact with the
stuff which makes up the newspaper —
engravings, type, dummy sheets, late
copy, etc. — the paper is bound to come
up with a few ridiculous mistakes.
We can't forgive B.J. for running a
picture in a Friday paper of two per-
sons listening to a football game which
will be played the following Saturday,
nor to attributing the new bulk of her
newspaper to the graces of the publica-
tions board rather than to the adver-
tising linage record rolled up by her
business staff. We can, however, be
sympathetic about those typographical
errors and those occasional bad exhibi-
tions of news judgment — If Miss Clin-
ton and Miss Park were allowed to drop
their routine journalism course
of studies in favor of full-time
work on the Daily, with full-
time credit for this work, then
we'd jump on every trite mon-
ster story and inaccurate re-
porting of SGB deliberations
displayed. We're not so sure
that such a set-up. with pub-
lications executives receiving
credit for their newspaper
"a c t i v i t y," wouldn't benefit
campus publications and the
individuals as well.
PL RP LE PAR R T
We stopped at a
lot of places but
these are the ones
we'll be going bac\
to. We present,
with our sugges-
with Jeann Ronningen
and Walt Kemp
RICCARDO'S, 437 Rush
Street, food in the Itahan
manner. Music by the inex-
haustible repertoire of "Ric"
and the Troubadors. Our sug-
gestion — L
ong, long Italian
spaghetti with grated Parme-
Anytime is right to meet your
friends at COOLEY'S CUP-
BOARDS . . . Delicious lunch-
eons and dinners . . . snacks
for tea or late evening sup-
pers. Our suggestion — toasted
caramel roll with gobs of
Where to . . . But RICKETT'S RESTAURANT at
the water tower, open all night . . . ''Where the
Celebrities Go.'' Sensible prices. Our suggestion
— tender red broiled - live lobster.
For jive, to the SILHOU-
ETTE, 1555 Howard Street.
The "Five Steps of Jive" will
make your feet really step.
Our suggestion —
good old fashioned
Daytime, night-time, anvtime
. . . it's SALLYS ON THE
SKOKIE. open all night. The
right place for all occasions.
Our suggestion — golden waf-
fles melting under maple syrup
and plenty of butter.
'ITH THE TOP
STARS OF HOLLYWOOD
BY FAR THE
Copyright 19I". Lioctrr & Mvers Tobacco Co.